It Was a Good Christmas
by Sabari
Summary: Trying to get home after a snow storm, Joe, Hoss and Candy run into trouble from the residents of a small town.
1. Of a Place I Love

**_Author's Note:_** ** _ ** _This story is completely written. I will be uploading one chapter per day. It is potentially slightly AU, but not on purpose. It does not especially matter, but the story was intended to be set in season 10._**_**

 ** _ ** _ _ **This is my fourth annual Christma fic and, as with all previous stories, all the chapter titles are taken from lyrics of Christmas songs. If you want to know what one is, feel free to ask, or take a guess of your own if you'd rather. So far, I haven't had to repeat, but if a yearly Christmas fic becomes tradition, it'll happen sooner or later. There's only so many Christmas songs out there. I will post the full list of songs at the end of the final chapter if someone requests it.  
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 ** _ ** _ _ **Thank you for your time, and I hope you enjoy the story.**__**_**

* * *

Winter had come to the Nevada area, and with it a biting wind carrying piled snow clouds on its back. Seemingly overnight, the land had been turned from the dry brown of early winter to frosted white, with drifts deep enough in places that a horse could sink up to his belly in the stuff. It was one of the most sudden winters the area had ever seen, and the cattlemen were unprepared for it.

"I can't believe you two are really going to try and make it home after that snow storm we had last night," Candy remarked as he fumbled at saddling his horse in the morning chill.

Not having expected to run into a blizzard, Hoss and Joe Cartwright had headed up a cattle drive aiming for the north. By luck or God's grace, they had made it through ahead of the storm, and the cattle were someone else's problem now. Despite the inclement weather, both Joe and Hoss were agreed on turning back for home right away, which struck Candy as very odd since they usually spent some time hanging around a town or city as a sort of vacation and reward for their hard work.

"You've never had the Christmas dinner Hop Sing fixes," Hoss said, straightening the blanket on the back of his horse, "Turkey and dumplings and mashed potatoes and biscuits an' gravy..." he trailed off, lost in blissful recollection of Christmas dinners past.

"And it's not like _you_ have to go back with us," Joe put in, warming the bit of his horse's bridle in his hands before offering it to the pinto, "You've been paid, and there's nothin' for you to do around the ranch until at least the first of the year anyhow. You could stay here until the snow clears out."

"I could," Candy acknowledged agreeably, "But I'm not goin' to."

"Why not?" Joe inquired, "You missed last Christmas."

"True, and you two wouldn't stop telling me about it for weeks," Candy reminded them.

His own solution to the cold bit problem had been to put the bridle under his coat while he groomed his horse and put a saddle on him. He now withdrew the bridle, felt the bit to see if the cold edge had been taken off, then put it to his horse. The animal took the bit without any fuss.

"Besides," Candy added, "We were practically strangers then."

"Candy, we ain't been strangers to you since the first night we met out on the trail," Hoss said.

"And not even then," Joe interjected, "You'd been following us long enough to know Hoss' name."

"And a lot more'n that," Hoss continued, "Why you fit in just like family from the start."

Candy adjusted the cheek strap on his horse's bridle, grinning without looking up from the work.

"And you want to know why I'm goin' with you," Candy said with an amused shake of his head.

"I don't follow," Hoss confessed, and Joe merely shrugged when he looked at him.

"Family doesn't let family do stupid things," Candy said, tugging at the strap of the bridle, then stepping back to see how it stayed on the horse, "Not alone anyway."

"Y'know, Hoss, I think Candy just insulted us," Joe remarked.

"It's a darn sight worse'n that, little brother," Hoss told him, "He finally admitted what we've been telling him for months now, that he's all but one of the family."

"I've always wanted a younger brother," Joe said.

Candy took the ribbing without a word of protest, not even to point out that his relationship to the Cartwrights hadn't been anything like so smooth and simple as Hoss suggested.

"I may be younger'n you, an' maybe not," Candy replied, as he moved to tying his saddlebags and bedroll onto the saddle, "But since I'm the only one who thinks it's crazy to ride out in this weather, I'd say that clearly makes me the adult in this situation."

"Hoss," Joe said with feigned indignation, "I think he just insulted us again."

"Only if you take bein' called a child as an insult," Candy said evenly.

Despite a fierce temper and life-long inclination to settle matters with violence or flight, Candy had proven himself to be more than a decent ranch hand, but also a true and loyal friend and steady ally of the Cartwrights. Through hard work and dangerous situations, Candy had earned the right to poke fun at the Cartwright boys quite freely without inducing any real anger in them, and they would give as good as they got, just as if they'd known him all their lives.

"If you're such a sensible adult," Joe persisted, throwing a blanket across his horse's withers, "How come you're coming along with us loco infants?"

"Who said anything about being sensible?" Candy asked, offering Joe a wry grin, "If I were sensible, I wouldn't have stayed in the saloon all night, frittering away my wages on a card game I was losing."

"The man has a point," Hoss admitted, then added, "But I think Joe was the least responsible of us last night, what with payin' for all those drinks for that purty gal."

"Hey, at least I didn't enter a drinking contest with the town's resident champion," Joe protested.

"Suffice to say, we all should have gone to bed early," Candy interrupted before Hoss could protest that he hadn't known he was up against a champion when he'd entered into it, "But if we were that smart, we wouldn't be ridin' out of town this morning."

"Hoss..." Joe said hesitantly, "I can't tell if he just insulted us or himself that time."

"I don't think it was an either or kinda insult," Hoss answered.

Candy didn't deign to tell him whether he was right or not, and merely led his horse out of the livery stable and onto the frozen street. Hoss and Joe followed shortly. Hoss and Joe had shared the duties of trail boss as usual, and therefore also shared the responsibility of carrying the money from the sale of the cattle. It was currently Hoss' turn. Next drive it would be Joe's.

The three of them mounted their horses, did a last mental check to make sure they'd concluded all the business they had in town, and then they rode out, Joe and Hoss side by each and Candy slightly behind them. Once outside the confines of the town and on the open road, they changed to single file, letting one horse break trail for the other two. They switched leads often, so each horse in his turn got a break from plowing through the snow. They also held their horses to a slow pace to reduce the chances of the animals sweating and getting too cold as a result of becoming wet.

Though he was the smallest of the horses, Joe's pinto took to the snow best, seeming to enjoy shoving chest first into the deepest drifts he could find, despite his rider's efforts to keep him steered toward areas where the snow was shallower. Hoss' tall dark brown would pick his way to shallower areas on his own, not liking any snow that went past his hocks. Candy's chestnut was somewhere in between the two, not seeming to care much which way he went, just so long as the other two horses were nearby.

It had been a long, long drive out, made all the longer by the necessity of driving the cattle around any towns they encountered along the way. Now they planned to take advantage of every one of those towns. The riding conditions through a town were sure to be easier, and they planned to stay in hotels at night to avoid the worst of the cold, as well as to give their horses the luxury of a stable. It was a rather expensive way to travel, which was another objection Candy had to the notion, but none of them were of a mind to spend a night out in the deep snow if they could help it.

Much as he gave them a hard time about it, Candy actually admired how devoted Joe and Hoss were to their home. It had perplexed him at first, that they could love a piece of land so much that they were willing to fight through any obstacle to reach it. But then he'd seen the place, and he understood how a man could grow attached to such a spread. More than that, he'd come to understand that their love of the Ponderosa had little to do with the mountains, trees and streams -though all of those were lovely- and a lot more to do with the fact that it was something they had built and maintained together. The Ponderosa was just the name of the place, the land was just a physical representation of something much larger, more rare and important than whatever money could buy. With the Cartwrights, it was all about family and living by a set of values, sharing their way of life together.

Oh, they could bellyache and complain with the best of them, particularly Hoss, but the boys loved the ranch just as much as their father did. They put their hearts into every part of it, from the ancient pine forests to the man-made streams for the cattle to drink from. They loved every rock and tree of the Ponderosa, because it was their home, and they had built it together.

Candy envied them that, and was grateful that they allowed him to stay, knowing that his life and way of being was the better for having been touched by them and theirs.

He didn't understand why the boys had such a need to hurry home despite the obstacles when they had spent most of the drive alternately moaning about the cold and the long hours of riding and speaking wistfully of a warm hotel bed and some good hot food, but he wanted to learn. And he knew the only way to learn something right was to observe others do it, and to also do it yourself.

Joe and Hoss spent a lot of that day's ride recounting Christmases past, and dreaming of the one that was upcoming. To Candy's ears, it sounded a lot like their usual means of motivating themselves ever forward. On a cattle drive, they motivated themselves by talking about what they'd do when the job was over, the towns they would stop in, what they intended to do there. On the way back from a drive, they would talk about what was waiting for them back home. But normally they would look at bad weather and choose to delay their plans. For some reason, the promise of Christmas dinner seemed to be sufficient motivation to brave the snowy weather. Candy didn't understand why.

Of course, he supposed maybe that was because he'd never had a home and family to return to. He'd been an orphaned army brat and a drifter, with no real family of his own, no place on a map he could point to and say 'I started here, I belong here'. He'd been everywhere and nowhere, and none of it had ever been his. He'd tried to make a family once, but that had been swiftly taken away from him, and he knew now that he could not have it back.

It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway. At least, that's what he told himself to dull the pain of it. Candy had a great capacity for anger, but only one man had managed to awaken a dark hatred in him, one it had taken him years to finally let go of. For that, he'd needed the help of Ben Cartwright, to make him take a good look at himself and what he was letting that hate do to him, and the people around him. Even then it hadn't been easy to let go. He knew he never would have managed it alone.

And so he would poke fun at them for riding through the snow to make it home in time for Christmas, but he would go along with them nonetheless, because that was the sort of person he was learning to be, the kind of person he'd always wanted to be, but had never known how or been given a chance to be. Foolishness or not, slogging home through the snow was a piece of what made the Cartwrights who they were, and Candy would take the ridiculous with the sensible for a chance at a better way of living, which was what working for and living near the Cartwrights offered him in spades.

They rode as long as the sun was up, Hoss and Joe opting to pass right through towns they would normally have stopped in. They were eager to be home, and if they had to miss some of their favorite hotels and saloons to get there faster, they were willing to do so. Candy questioned their decision, but they couldn't explain it to him; the best they seemed able to do was to remind him that he really didn't have to haul home with them, he was perfectly free to stop anywhere he liked.

Though it was of course tempting to do so in order to get out of the cold, wet snow and the freezing wind, Candy did not take them up on that, and instead continued to ride with them.

Only when it started to get dark did they start looking for a town to stop in. At first it seemed like they'd let their eagerness get the better of them, because there didn't seem to be any settlement nearby. Just as they were beginning to consider what they'd have to do in order to survive a night out in the snow, Candy -who was leading at the time- caught sight of light up ahead.

Not long after, they rode into a little one horse town. Actually, it was only figuratively one horse, as there was in fact a livery where they could stable their horses.

"Where's a good place to stay for the night?" Joe inquired of the owner of the livery.

"There ain't but one place in town. Lacy's Saloon has a second floor which serves as hotel when need be," the man replied, "Just down the street apiece," he gestured with one hand.

"Thanks," Joe said politely, exchanging a concerned look with his companions.

None of them could imagine getting much in the way of rest above a saloon, but they weren't exactly drowning in other options. With a shrug, Joe led the way down the street to Lacy's.

Lacy proved to be a bored looking blond behind the bar, and her saloon was almost entirely empty except for an unconscious drunk at a table somewhere near the back of the room. She blinked at them from beneath impossibly long eyelashes as Joe explained that they needed rooms for the night. From under the bar, she produced a registry book.

"Sign your names and I'll fetch your room keys," she said, and shuffled off before they could reply.

As per instruction, they each wrote their name on a line of the book. Candy went last, and was just finishing when Lacy returned. She flipped the book around to scrutinize it.

"Canaday, eh?" Lacy muttered, "What's a matter? Ain't you got no first name like these two?"

"Not one I'd write any place," Candy replied evenly.

For the first year they had known him, neither Hoss nor Joe had even heard Candy's real last name. Sometimes they doubted he knew his own first name, seeing as he only ever used the nickname he'd been saddled with from an early age. Assuming it _was_ a nickname; it was something he'd never clarified. For all they knew, it could be his real name, which seemed like some sort of cruel joke, particularly considering it in combination with his last name. Assuming it _was_ his last name.

"And Cartwright," Lacy said, glancing at Joe and Hoss, "I've heard of you."

"Oh really?" Joe asked.

"You're that family's got the big spread out near Virginia City way. Cattle ranchers, ain't ya?"

"That's us," Joe replied.

Lacy looked for a moment like she'd say something more, but then she merely shrugged and handed the keys to Joe, saying, "Only got two rooms, but there's a cot you can drag up and use in the back."

"Thanks," Joe said.

It wasn't long before he and his companions had gone up and gone to bed, with Joe volunteering for the cot and sharing a room with Hoss. Each of them, more tired than he had realized, was asleep almost before he lay down for the night.


	2. Here Inside This Stable

By morning, Joe was regretting his generosity in taking the cot. They should have flipped for it. The cot was hard and also creaked unsteadily whenever he moved. He supposed only he and Candy could have flipped for it though. Considering it was already too small for him, Hoss absolutely could not have used it. Still, it was hard to feel reasonable after a bad night of sleep and listening to Hoss' snoring all night. He supposed he should have bunked with Candy if he'd really wanted sleep.

Joe groaned at the soreness of his muscles as he rolled himself off the cot. That, coupled with the creaking, made enough noise to rouse Hoss. The sun wasn't up yet, but they could see the sky turning gray through the uncovered upper half of the window in their room. It wasn't as early as the darkness made it feel. The days were getting shorter, and the nights colder all the time.

"'Morning," Joe mumbled as Hoss blinked sleepily at him.

"Is it?" Hoss inquired, equally groggy, "We shoulda flipped for that cot. I think this bed was tryin' to swallow me up last night."

Joe sort of looked at him, and slowly absorbed that the bed had a distinct sag in the middle, and Hoss was well and truly in it. The sides of the mattress had come up and the blanket tumbled onto him, basically pinning him in a single position all night. Joe figured it was only fair. He'd had a bad night on the cot, and Hoss had a bad night on the bed. Joe supposed that when they saw Candy he would tell them that's what they got for being in too much of a hurry to stop in towns they were familiar with.

"Candy's gonna have fun sayin' us he told us so," Hoss remarked, having the same thought as Joe.

"Well, not if we don't say anything," Joe replied, "If he thinks it's just him that had a bad night, he can't have anything to say about it. If he does, we can just remind him that we said he was free to stop anywhere. That'll stop him alright."

"You have a tricky mind, little brother," Hoss said.

"It's all part of my charm," Joe said, gingerly attempting to stretch, feeling every bruise the cot had left on him as he did so.

Gradually, Hoss pried himself out of the void which seemed to be the center of the bed. The two brothers sleepily got dressed and then went in search of breakfast, wondering if such could be found in a saloon that also served as a hotel. They found Candy downstairs, poking skeptically at a plate with a brown substance on it that they presumed was meant to resemble food.

"'Mornin'," Candy remarked without looking up, his expression one of a man who suspected the thing he was poking might poke back if he wasn't mighty careful with it.

"Is that breakfast?" Joe asked, regarding the plate with a certain wariness.

"Either that or it's somebody's pet," Candy replied, "I think it's still alive."

"You boys hungry?"

Joe jumped at the sound of Lacy behind him; he hadn't heard her slinking up. She was holding two more plates of the mystery food. Though he would rather have chewed trail rations than whatever that stuff was, Joe was too polite to turn down food that had already been prepared and dished out. So too was Hoss. The both of them had been taught to eat what was put before them, even if they didn't like it. Their raising got in the way of their better judgment. Joe wondered what Candy's excuse was.

They joined Candy at the table, and together the three of them poked and prodded the brown gooky substance, checking for any signs of life or other suspicious activity. None of them wanted to be the first to actually taste it, but sooner or later one of them had to. Hoss was the bravest of them in this case, and took a very tiny taste while Joe and Candy watched with no small amount of concern.

Hoss closed his eyes tightly and scrunched up his face, chewing the tiny morsel for a lot longer than seemed strictly necessary, then he swallowed audibly.

"Well," Hoss said faintly, "It ain't so bad really, once you get past the texture."

Candy continued to look wary, but Joe didn't have the luxury of poor table manners allowing him to play with his food instead of eating it, so he was the next one to take the plunge and taste the stuff. The texture reminded him of leather, which in turn reminded him of all the times he'd bitten onto a piece of leather, which usually happened because someone was trying to pull an arrow or bullet out of him. But the flavor was mercifully all but nonexistent. Joe nodded thoughtfully.

Since both brothers had taken a bite, Candy was now virtually obligated to. Once he did, his face acquired an expression that suggested he profoundly regretted the action. For once, he had no smart remark to make, and merely consumed the rest of his breakfast in a kind of strained silence. Not that Hoss or Joe could find much to say, and the energy spent chewing took away any desire to talk.

Candy was the first one through. Once he'd started, he reverted to his typical habit of eating. Hoss and Joe both politely ignored the automatic look of possessive wariness he acquired when eating, pretending not to notice it. In recent days, they'd noticed the look wasn't as pronounced as when they'd first met him, and he didn't eat quite as rapidly either. They knew he'd learned a different set of eating manners from them, one that involved not always getting regular meals and sometimes having to fight for what little there was when supplies didn't get in.

From the outside, Joe and Hoss knew that sometimes army supply wagons got raided, or the delivery man proved unreliable. But Candy knew that from the inside. He had known a desperate kind of hunger growing up that neither of them could really comprehend. It had left its mark on him in the form of wolfing his meals down rapidly and keeping a watchful eye all around him, just in case somebody tried to take it away from him. It didn't seem to be conscious on his part, it was just something he did, and they were used to it now.

"That stuff's harder work than a cattle drive," was Candy's remark when he'd finished.

"Sure is," Hoss agreed, pushing away his empty plate, "Why I almost need to go back to sleep and rest after that," he did not order his customary seconds.

Joe was the last to finish, chewing desperately in an attempt to make it more palatable for his stomach. It was a vain attempt. He supposed it might be just as effective to swallow it whole. Finally he was through, and he let out a weary sigh.

"I don't know what that was," Joe admitted, "But I do know if I have to eat any more of it, I'll die of exhaustion."

"Then let's get checked out and go," Candy suggested, "Before it comes back to haunt us."

"Good idea," Joe said.

They found Lacy polishing the bar. Looking at the badly scored surface of the bar, Joe couldn't imagine that polishing it would do any good. He informed Lacy that they were checking out, and returning their room keys.

"Leaving so soon?" Lacy asked, frowning at them, "Somethin' wrong with the rooms?

"Oh no," Joe said, his sense of etiquette forbidding him from telling her _everything_ was wrong with them, "It's just we've got a long way to go to get home, and we'd like to make it by Christmas."

"I see," Lacy smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes as she took the keys, "Well, sign out then."

She put the registry book on the counter, and the three of them signed their names. They'd paid her up front because that's what she'd insisted on, so there was nothing to do but walk out. The cold air greeted them icily and Joe shivered a bit in spite of himself. He actually liked cold weather, unlike Hoss -who couldn't stand it- but the morning was a little too frigid even for his liking.

In the livery, Joe found that his horse hadn't had a much better night than he had. Joe hadn't noticed it last night, but the stable was pretty drafty. His pinto whinnied a greeting and pressed himself eagerly up to Joe more for warmth than affection. Placing a gloved hand on the horse's withers, Joe felt that the animal was shivering a little. Joe felt a pang of guilt. He should have checked the stable over before leaving his horse here, but it simply hadn't occurred to him last night. He'd been so tired.

"I'm sorry, Cochise," Joe said, stroking the horse's neck, "I'll make sure you get a blanket next time."

The little horse snorted and began to snuffle Joe's hair. Joe pushed his head away and went over to where he'd left his tack. It was the first sign that something was wrong.

"Hey," Joe asked, "Didn't I leave my saddle here?"

Candy, checking over his own horse, looked up at Joe's question. He looked thoughtful as he said, "I dunno. I thought so. Maybe the stable owner did something with it."

"I doubt it," Joe replied, "I didn't get the impression he'd lift a finger to do much of anything, no matter how much we paid him."

"It's a nice saddle," Hoss remarked, "Suppose somebody took it?"

"And the rest of the saddles?" Candy asked.

Hoss and Joe both blinked, looked around and realized he was right; there wasn't a saddle in the place. Nor were their horses' bridles very much in evidence. In fact, the only of their gear they still had was the saddlebags, bedrolls and rifles they'd taken into the hotel with them and carried out this morning.

"I bet it was that livery owner," Joe said, "There was something shifty about him."

Candy frowned, but said nothing.

"What? You don't suspect Lacy, do you?" Joe asked.

Lacy was the only other person in town they'd seen. They'd arrived late, and were leaving early, and the snow was liable to make people close their shops and stay home.

"She seemed awful unhappy about us leavin' so soon," Candy answered.

"Aw," Hoss said, "What would a saloon gal want with three saddles?"

"You said it yourself, Hoss," Candy replied, "Those saddles are worth money. You don't think she makes a decent living with those hotel beds and that stuff she serves as food do ya?"

Hoss and Joe exchanged a quiet look. They'd agreed not to say anything about the beds, but it seemed there was no point in denying it now. Candy was right, nobody in their right mind would stay more than one night in that 'hotel', and less polite sorts than themselves would probably demand a refund.

"I think we should see if there's a sheriff in this town," Joe suggested.

"I guess we'd better," Hoss agreed.

"I'll stay and take care of the horses," Candy said.

Something about the way he said it got Joe's attention. Candy had an instinct for trouble before it hit, and a certain knack for self-preservation. Joe got the impression that Candy's instinct was working overtime and warning him that they shouldn't all go in a group together. Joe thought maybe he was being a little overly paranoid. After all, there was no real sign of danger, just theft. What he wasn't sure of was if Candy was being paranoid, or if he himself was being paranoid for thinking Candy had an ulterior motive for staying behind that had nothing to do with the horses.

"Okay," Joe said, not having any reason to tell Candy to do otherwise, "But you'd better keep an eye out for that livery stable owner."

"Sure," Candy replied, a guarded look in his eyes.

Joe and Hoss exchanged looks with each other, and Joe knew then that it wasn't his imagination, that Hoss saw it too, and knew what it meant. Candy's unease was contagious, primarily because Hoss and Joe knew him to be experienced in the darker sides of life, and never unnecessarily cautious. If he got a sense of danger about this place, then they should be mighty careful.

It took them a bit to find the sheriff's office, which was little more than a tiny building at the end of the town's only street. The office was surprisingly open, and they found the sheriff inside.

"Who are you?" the sheriff inquired, looking them up and down suspiciously.

"I'm Joe Cartwright," Joe answered, "This is my brother Hoss."

"That's yer brother?" the sheriff spoke doubtfully.

"Yes," Joe replied impatiently, in no mood to try and prove their relation, "We just arrived in town late last night. We were going to leave this morning, but it seems somebody took our saddles. That's what we came to see you about."

"You're Cartwrights," the sheriff said, seeming to be looking for confirmation.

"Yes," Joe said, biting his tongue to keep from making a smart remark about the man's apparent slowness, "And we're trying to get home by Christmas. But first we have to find who took our saddles."

"Your saddles," the sheriff repeated, like he'd never heard the term before.

"Yeah," Joe said, losing hold of his temper, "You know the thing you put on a horse's back."

"I know what a saddle is," the sheriff drawled, then slowly shook his head, "But I'm afraid I can't help you."

"What? Why not?" Joe asked, glancing at Hoss and seeing his brother looked as surprised as he felt.

"Because," the sheriff replied, leaning back in his chair, "I know exactly who took the saddles."

"Really?" Joe felt suspicion stirring in him, and an instinct to back away that he ignored, "Who?"

Behind him, the door to the sheriff's office banged open and he turned in time to see two deputies armed with drawn pistols that they were leveling right at both him and his brother. He reached for his gun reflexively, but stifled the impulse before either deputy was triggered into shooting him. At the same time, a cold chill ran down his back when he heard the sheriff's answer to his question.

"Us," the sheriff said, "An' you an' yer brother are not goin' anywhere."


	3. Get Out of Town

Hoss lacked the wild nature of his little brother, and so he was slower to react when presented with the knowledge that the sheriff and his deputies had taken the saddles. It also didn't immediately occur to him that it hadn't been any kind of mistake either.

He had inherited from his father an inclination to see the best in people, though it was probable that he'd gotten his slowness to anger more from his mother, seeing as his father's patience came more from experience than his own nature. So he figured that, like as not, the sheriff had mistaken them for some kind of outlaws, and had taken their saddles as evidence or something.

It didn't make a lot of sense, and Hoss knew that of course, but it made a lot more sense than the truth, which was the conclusion that Joe immediately leaped to, being of a more suspicious mind and less trusting disposition than his older brother. Joe was wiser than to come right out and say it though. The years had made a somewhat prudent individual of him, though the vicious streak he'd tried hard to bury showed through plainly enough when he turned on the sheriff in unmistakable anger.

"What do you want with us?" Joe demanded.

The sheriff, a middle aged man with shaggy salt and pepper hair, leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the beat-up desk in front of him.

"Well, boy, I'll tell ya," the sheriff said, "Elodie isn't much of a town, as maybe you've noticed."

He paused, as though expecting Hoss or Joe to say something, but they didn't.

"There was supposed to be gold in those hills outside of town," the sheriff continued, "But of course there wasn't. Never is, I suppose. Some of the younger bachelor types got out, but those that stayed... most have got families. We came all this way, set up our dreams in this town. Simple as that."

Joe and Hoss glanced from the sheriff to the two deputies, not really quite believing what they were hearing. But the deputies refused to meet their eyes, and stared past them instead. They were younger than the sheriff, but they had a tired look in their eyes that matched his, and there'd been an uncommon weariness to their actions when they'd taken the rifles and pistols Hoss and Joe had been carrying.

"You're not even going to pretend you think we're criminals and arrest us?" Joe asked.

"What for?" the sheriff replied, "We all know you aren't, an' you know we know it. Why lie about it?"

"If it's money you're after-" Hoss began, but the sheriff interrupted.

"We already know what you have in your saddlebag," he said, "Lacy went in and counted it last night while you were asleep. No more'n three thousand dollars," he shook his head sadly, "Not near enough."

Hoss had left his saddlebag with Candy at the livery stable. He now wondered if there was any money in it now. Neither he nor Joe had heard Lacy, but the count was correct. It was possible she'd taken the money with her. The idea that they could have ridden out of town without any money in their pockets and not even known it stung, but not as bad as what Hoss now realized was coming.

"Now, we don't mean to hurt you," the sheriff said, "Not if you don't make us."

"The way I see it, we're not making you do a damn thing," Joe spat.

"You watch your mouth, sonny," the sheriff drawled mildly, then continued, "Now, we've heard of you Cartwrights. Two boys and their father workin' a ranch together. Seems to me that indicates a mighty powerful family bond. Powerful enough to be worth a lotta money."

Hoss felt the rage swell up in him then, but he couldn't cave to it because he had to control Joe. This wasn't the first time a Cartwright had been held for ransom. Because they were big, powerful and well-known, they were targets for people wanting to get rich quick, or just get away with murder. If there was anything that got them fighting mad, it was a threat to their family, and this qualified.

"We figure each of you ought to be accounted for separately," the sheriff went on, "See, maybe your pa only wants to pay up for one of ya."

What Joe might've said or done never came to pass. The moment he made a move for the sheriff, Hoss caught his brother by the arms, a wary eye on the deputies, who nervously raised their pistols.

"Joe," Hoss whispered fiercely, "Settle down."

Joe tossed him a glare, the look in his eyes practically feral. Anger came so easily to the youngest Cartwright, a fire burned in him that often led him to act in a self-destructive manner. Like now. Any move Joe made now would just get him pistol whipped – or worse. Joe trembled under Hoss' strong hands, trying to get control of his emotions enough to speak.

"More'n likely," the sheriff went on, "He'll pay up for both of ya, an' be glad enough about it. See, at this time o' year, a man's got to do some hard thinkin' 'bout his family one way or another."

"This is a lousy way to keep Christmas," Joe hissed through his teeth, his eyes flashing, "And a worse thing to do to people you barely even know. We haven't done anything to you."

"Oh, I sent one of my deputies out to the next town over to send a telegram. Your pa should receive it right quick, and come up with the money fast enough. He'll be only too happy to pay so he can get you home by Christmas, I'm sure of that," the sheriff explained.

"You wouldn't let us go," Joe said, "Not when we know where your town is."

"Joe!" Hoss rebuked him, but it was too late; the damage had already been done.

If the sheriff and his deputies hadn't thought of it before, they sure did now. But they didn't say anything to Joe, which only served to confirm his assessment.

"If anything happens to us," Joe growled in a dangerously low voice, "There won't be a rock you can hide under that our pa won't find you, and there won't be enough money in the world to protect you from what you've done. He'll kill you."

It wasn't a threat; it was a warning, one the sheriff chose to ignore.

"Put 'em in a cell," the sheriff instructed.

The deputies shuffled forward, Hoss and Joe ahead of them. Even knowing that the eventual intent was for their death, Hoss and Joe knew that they could buy themselves time by cooperating. The plan was obviously not to kill them just yet, and that gave them a chance. If they had been hoping for Candy to interfere, however, their hopes were dashed when another pair of deputies came in, one of them dragging the ranch hand by the collar and bandana.

"I haven't done anything!" Candy was saying, and it was clear from the blood at the corner of one deputy's mouth and the rapidly forming bruise on the face of the other that he had not agreed to come quietly, "Let me go!"

Whatever else he might've said was choked off because the deputy holding him yanked on his shirt and bandana. Candy resisted, and there was a momentary scuffle until he was once more subdued, gasping somewhat as his wind had been briefly cut off to induce a more cooperative demeanor.

"We found this stuff on him," said the other deputy, holding out a handful of objects which included Candy's pistol and a few dollar bills he'd had in his pocket.

"What's this?" the sheriff asked of the deputy that had hold of Candy.

"This is the other one," the deputy said, "Lacy said three rode in."

"And she also said only two of 'em were Cartwrights," the sheriff remarked, nodding towards Joe and Hoss, "Specifically, those two."

"Candy works for us," Joe said in as calm a tone as could reasonably be expected, "He's got nothing to do with this, so you can just let him go."

Despite the restraint placed upon him by the overzealous deputy, Candy managed to meet the eyes of first one Cartwright and then the other, puzzled and trying to grasp the fine points of the situation before he caused any trouble he shouldn't. Neither Hoss nor Joe bore a look that was at all reassuring.

The sheriff looked at Joe and Hoss, and then at Candy. The three of them could all recognize the decision in his eyes, even before he spoke.

"No, I don't think so," the sheriff said, "He'd run off and tell Cartwright where you boys are the moment we turned him loose."

"What makes you think I care what happens to them?" Candy spat, and his intonation was so venomous that Joe and Hoss could almost believe what he said themselves, "I've already been paid; what happens to those two now is no concern of mine. I've got no love for the Cartwrights; just their money."

"Then it's a sure thing the head Cartwright wouldn't pay a nickel for you," the sheriff said, and turned to address the deputy standing nearest to Joe, "Kill him."

The deputy, clearly not used to the thuggish line of work he found himself in, turned his back on Joe to comply with the order. In a blink, Joe was on him. The other nearby deputy moved to intervene, but Hoss held him up. The deputy who was left not holding onto anybody moved in to help restrain Hoss while the sheriff busied himself with Joe. The distraction gave Candy an opportunity.

He bucked, and elbowed his captor in the chest. The grip on his collar loosened enough for him to turn and punch the man in the face. In a moment, Candy assessed that Joe had been overpowered, Hoss brought to a halt by a pistol across the skull, and the deputies were rounding on him. Unlike Joe and Hoss, Candy wasn't to be captured; he was to be executed.

Already he had comprehended that there was some reason to keep Joe and Hoss alive. And anyway there was nothing he could do for them. Still, he froze for a moment.

"Candy, go!" Joe's voice was muffled because he was pressed face down across the sheriff's desk, but the order was clear enough, "Get out! Run!"

It was enough to unstick Candy, and he bolted for the open door. The sheriff was the quickest to react, leaving his deputy to hold Joe while he straightened and drew his firearm. Joe bucked the deputy, knocking the man into the sheriff even as the gun went off.

The bullet still hit, and Candy spun and crashed to the ground just beyond the door. There was a scuffle of people trying to get to the door, though two deputies continued to hang onto Joe and stand over the unconscious form of Hoss. Joe's heart was in his throat. He knew Candy had been hit, that there was nowhere for him to go even if he hadn't been killed, yet still he clung to a hope.

That hope was rewarded by the sound of a horse galloping away and additional shots being fired. One of the deputies shouted that his horse had been stolen. The seconds it had taken them to reach the door to finish the job had been time enough for Candy to get himself up and move.

It would be an overstatement to suggest he was riding the horse, more that he'd managed to fall across its back and hang on after kicking it into a mad gallop. It would also be far too generous to say he was controlling the horse, but he was on its back and leaving town, and that was what mattered.

Joe didn't need to see it to know, because he heard it in the hoof beats, in the angry shouts of the deputies, and in the loudly echoing shots. They didn't hit him again. They returned inside.

"Lock those two up," the sheriff ordered his deputies, "And then see that he don't get far."

"I don't see how he could," one deputy, the youngest of them, said, "You hit him in the back and he was bleedin' pretty bad. Ain't no way he can make it far, 'specially not in this weather."

"So it should be easy to see to it that he don't," the sheriff snarled.

One deputy with a pistol aimed at him was sufficient to move Joe into the only jail cell, but it took three to carry Hoss in. They dropped him unceremoniously on the floor in cell with Joe. Then the door clanged shut and was locked. They returned to the main room, shutting the door to the jail room behind them. Still, Joe heard an amount of murmuring and a brief argument.

Shortly thereafter, he heard the sound of horses galloping away, and he knew the deputies were after Candy. In the deep snow, he'd inevitably leave a clear trail for them to follow. If what that deputy had said about how badly he'd been shot was true, he didn't stand much of a chance.

Unable to do anything else, Joe knelt on the floor and tended to his brother as best he could.

It didn't take long for Hoss to wake up, as he hadn't been hit that hard.

"Oh," Hoss mumbled, putting a hand to his aching head, "What happened?"

"Candy got away, took a deputy's horse and rode out fast," Joe answered grimly, "But the sheriff shot him," he shook his head, indicating that he didn't know how badly Candy had been injured.

Hoss sat up experimentally, and decided the room wasn't spinning too terribly badly. Even so, he scooted so he could lean against the wall instead of holding himself up. He checked the hand he'd put to his head. It came away with some blood, but not a shocking amount.

"You okay?" Hoss asked of Joe.

"Yeah, just sore," Joe replied, "You and Candy got the worst of it."

A flicker of anger burned quietly in his gaze as he spoke, and there was a dangerous undercurrent to his tone that Hoss didn't like, but it seemed like he'd regained enough control of himself not to do anything foolish, and they both knew that the fight for Candy's life had been necessary.

If they hadn't done it, Candy would have been killed for sure. They'd given him a chance, and that was all they could offer, though it sounded as if it had not been nearly enough. In the end, it wasn't just about his life, but their own lives too. Candy was their only chance. Even though the sheriff had refused to answer Joe's accusation, it was pretty clear to both brothers that he intended to kill them just as soon as he got what he wanted from their father.

And they both knew their father well enough to know he would give money for his sons, once offered proof that they had been captured. He was a wise man, but he valued his sons over any amount of money. He even valued them over his beloved Ponderosa itself, because it would be nothing without what was left of his family. He had outlived three wives, and could not survive the thought of outliving even one of his sons after all of that.

He would suspect that his sons would be killed regardless, but he could not know for sure, and therefore would not take the risk with their lives by refusing to give their captors whatever they wanted.

Candy might not know a lot of the details, but he did have the critical information that needed to be passed along: specifically where the boys were and who was holding them prisoner. There was no doubt in either Joe or Hoss' minds that he would pass that along to Ben as soon as he could.

Assuming he made it that far...


	4. At the Same Time, Miles Away

Ben Cartwright had no reason to even begin to suspect that his boys might be in any kind of trouble whatsoever. No reason at all except for intuition born of nearly forty years of raising three boys who seemed to always find trouble even in the most unlikely of places.

Hoss and Joe had sent a telegram saying they were on the way home, but Ben didn't expect the boys for another three or four days, depending on how enthusiastic they were about getting home and how bad the roads were for traveling. It wouldn't even have been terribly concerning if it had taken them a week. A horse could pull up lame, or a localized snow storm could slow them down. In fact, a blizzard could halt travel entirely and indefinitely.

He had plenty of things to deal with at the ranch to keep him occupied. Christmas was coming, but so was the end of the year, and business never entirely stopped at the Ponderosa, even for the biggest holiday of the year. Aside from which, it was Ben's habit to invite friends for a Christmas party, typically on Christmas Eve or earlier, leaving Christmas itself to him and his boys, and sometimes special guests that were staying with them. Making all the arrangements for a party was time consuming as well, even now at the last minute.

In fact, Ben was so preoccupied that he didn't even realize he was worried until it was pointed out.

"Why no eat?" Hop Sing inquired irritably in his broken English, gesturing to Ben's untouched breakfast plate, "Pour sugar four times, no drink coffee. Salt eggs six times, but no eat!"

"Hmm?" Ben grunted, looking up from being lost in thought, "Oh, I'm sorry Hop Sing. I'm just not very hungry this morning, I guess."

"You no hungry?" Hop Sing sounded deeply wounded, seriously annoyed and somewhat concerned all at the same time, "When last time Cartwright no hungry, Little Joe in bed with fever from be shot."

Ben thought back, wondering if that really was the last time he'd had no appetite. Joe had been shot many times, though it never got any easier for Ben to sit up all night praying for his son's life to be spared. It wasn't only him, none of the Cartwrights ever felt like eating when one of their number was sick or injured or missing or in any kind of real trouble. But Hop Sing was right, it had been Joe most recently, and it had been from fever due to an infection caused by a bullet.

"Well, Joe's not in bed with fever now," Ben pointed out, "I just got a message from him and Hoss, saying they'd finished the drive and were on their way home now."

"Then why no eat?" Hop Sing asked, gesturing again to the plate, "Mr Cartwright no like food?"

Hop Sing said his T's very softly, and R's frequently became L's when he spoke, particularly in irritation, which seemed to make him forget what he knew of English.

"I'm sure it was fine, Hop Sing," Ben said reassuringly.

The little Chinaman was an excellent cook, and the only housekeeper to have survived the trials of the childhood years of the Cartwright boys, whose wildness, energy, debatably clever ideas and sheer bulldog willfulness had driven away any and all other household servants that Ben had tried hiring over the years. But Hop Sing was also very temperamental, most especially when his cooking went unappreciated. Hop Sing asked little of the Cartwrights aside from his room and board and wages, even though Ben placed tremendous responsibility on him in a way, making him responsible for the entirety of the kitchen and everything that went on there, and sometimes even calling upon him to act as babysitter for children visiting the Ponderosa. In return, Hop Sing demanded only that the Cartwrights always be clean before sitting down to a meal at the table, and that they eat the food he fixed for them if they had no good excuse (such as illness) not to, and that they -at least most of the time- be civilized when eating, instead of grunting or arguing. The surest way to reduce him to cursing in Chinese and threatening to quit was to not eat, the second was to grunt over a meal. No matter how nice you were to _him_ , he could not abide living in a house where his _cooking_ went unappreciated.

"If fine, why no eat?" Hop Sing persisted, "Mr. Cartwright sick?"

"No, Hop Sing, I'm not sick," Ben replied, at a loss to explain his lack of hunger, "Just not hungry."

"Ai!" Hop Sing muttered, and unleashed a tirade in Chinese while stalking back to the kitchen.

Ben shook his head, listening to the pots banging in the kitchen while the Chinaman worked out his rage. He knew he'd have to make up for it by showing appreciation at lunch, if he could manage it. Hop Sing's anger never lasted, and was usually caused by his feeling unwanted and unappreciated. The man had almost no family, and no place to go. He had nothing except that kitchen, and no one except the Cartwrights, who were close as family to him. Asking them to show a little appreciation for the love and care he put into feeding them wasn't really asking too much, especially seeing as every one of the Cartwrights was nothing but a menace in a kitchen.

Hop Sing came back after a few minutes, clearly still upset as he began to clear the breakfast dishes. But he didn't clatter the dishes together, they were much too fragile for that, and he too conscious of the expense and trouble of having to replace them. Suddenly, he stopped and looked directly at Ben.

In a very earnest manner, he said, "Why Mr. Cartwright worry so, if nothing wrong?"

"I didn't know I was worried," Ben admitted.

"Mr. Cartwright like mother hen," Hop Sing said seriously, "Worry always about boys; know boys in trouble like hen hear chicks go peep, peep, peep."

"You think they're in trouble?" Ben asked.

"Hop Sing no think nothing," Hop Sing replied, "Mr. Cartwright think trouble and worry," his expression became annoyed once more, "So no eat breakfast, no drink coffee. Hop Sing work over hot stove all morning, and nothing! Mr. Cartwright busy be mother hen to grown boys and no eat. Ai!"

He walked off with the dishes. Ben didn't wait for him to come back, and instead left the table.

Now he knew he was worried, Ben wondered what to do. His sons were grown men and well able to take care of themselves, but he knew also that him and his sometimes ran into more trouble than one man alone could handle. He had no reason to suspect any trouble, in fact just the opposite. The boys were on schedule and it was two of them together. But he also had many years of experience that had taught him that Cartwrights had an instinct for knowing when their own were in danger. A few times when Ben had talked himself out of acting on his concern, one or more of his boys would drag him into it, and they would find that the concerns were never without cause.

Still, he couldn't very well just ride off the ranch and go hunting for his boys without any cause. Besides, his intuition had never been perfect; often he could not tell the difference between accurate gut instinct and inaccurate emotional clinginess. If he'd succumbed to the latter, he never would have let his boys out of his sight for a moment, no matter what, and that was no way for them to live.

Besides, it wasn't just Joe and Hoss out there. Even though the telegram Ben received hadn't said so, he knew that Candy was riding home with them. Despite experience and an in-born sense of caution common to all Cartwrights, both Joe and Hoss could sometimes be trusting lambs, not sensing danger or betrayal until it was far too late. They would let politeness and a general liking for other people get in the way of their better judgment, especially if presented with a deal that was too good to be true. But Candy, though he ever displayed an appearance of friendliness, levity and good humor, had a certain darkness to him that made him suspicious and always alert for threats or treachery, even from people he knew well. He was able to spot a swindler from a mile away, and was quick not only with a gun but also with a biting question or comment that would reveal a snake in the grass for what it was.

With the three of them together, how much trouble could they possibly get in?

* * *

Three or four days ride away, locked up in the only jail cell in the tiny town of Elodie, Joe would've given just about anything to be able to tell his father _exactly_ how much trouble he and his brother had gotten themselves into through no fault of their own.

For the first couple of hours, Hoss and Joe were quiet, thinking and finding no way out of the situation. They each roamed the cell and tested every part of it for weaknesses, and found none. They listened to intermittent conversations between the sheriff and what they assumed were deputies, but they couldn't hear much of anything worthwhile, and no word from the ones who'd ridden out after Candy. Finally, Hoss could take the silence and Joe's incessant pacing no more.

"What do you s'pose Candy's chances are? Really?"

Joe had seen the shooting, and heard the aftermath, and he knew Candy's capabilities perhaps better than anyone because they'd spent so much time working together and were seemingly cut from a similar -though by no means the same- cloth, but he didn't have a good answer.

"I don't know. On a strange horse in strange country..." Joe shook his head, "I don't know anybody better trained to cover wild country with hostile people chasing after him; whatever Candy doesn't know about concealment and evasion tactics isn't worth knowing. But those deputies... they're bound to know the area pretty well. And, not knowing if that bullet just grazed him or lodged somewhere... well... there's no telling what kind of shape he's in for a long chase, which is what it's bound to be."

Hoss nodded, "That's kinda what I was figurin'. Might just be he'll need us to bust outta here and save his hide, 'steada the other way around."

"Maybe," Joe agreed unhappily, "But I don't see how."

"Me neither," Hoss admitted, "But we've been in a lotta tight spots. We'll find a way outta this one."

"I wish I had your confidence," Joe said.

"An' I wish you had my headache," Hoss replied.

His attempt at levity elicited a strained smile from Joe, who finally stopped pacing and came to sit beside his brother. Even though they were indoors, the jail room was cold, and the icy wind sometimes found its way through the barred window high on one wall, through which they could see little aside from the back of another building. Both boys were wearing their coats, but when Joe leaned his shoulder against Hoss', it was evident to both that they were shivering and trying to hide it. It wasn't fear though, they had never trembled before the prospect of their own deaths.

In fact, they were more angry than scared. They'd been hostages and held for ransom before, and it always made them more furious than afraid, because they knew the pain and fear it would cause their family. It also made them angry because they had been raised to have a certain resentment for being treated as victims. They were raised to take care of themselves, to defend themselves, and to protect those that needed it, and they never handled being helpless or powerless at all well.

Even though he was provably cold, and pacing did no good, Joe didn't stay seated for long. That inner fire that showed plainly in his dark eyes forbade it, and he got up and began to stalk the cell like a caged cougar once more, tension and impatience in every line of him. Hoss sat and watched his brother, knowing there was no way he could settle Joe down right now, he just had to wait for the next time reason came back into his little brother's head.

Joe was unpredictable, and Hoss had no idea if -when the time came for action- he would become deadly calm or disastrously enraged. Either could be equally dangerous, particularly if you were on the receiving end of it. But he did know that his brother could be relied on to have his back, if either of them happened to get an idea about what to do. When the time came, he would be able to read Joe's intentions as if they had a shared mind, just as Joe would be able to read him.

He hoped fervently that it would be enough.

* * *

The horse was limping, and Candy could feel the unevenness of the animal's lurching stride in every inch of his body. But he could do nothing except clutch the animal's black mane, struggling as he was to maintain his consciousness for long enough to get clear of Elodie and the men pursuing him.

He didn't understand what was happening, and right now he hurt too much to care. Despite blood loss and pain induced fatigue, his mind was whirling, not seeking an answer as to what was happening or why, but a solution, a means of escape, a plan for survival. Though often finding out why something was happening to him could be made a priority, in this case he was wiser than to waste energy speculating; it was enough to know that he was in trouble, that people were trying to kill him, that he had to find help not only for his own sake but that of the Cartwrights as well.

The horse stumbled and neighed painfully. The shuddering of the animal beneath him was almost enough to knock him off, but Candy managed to hold onto the horse's neck until it righted itself and came to a wayward sort of halt, its head down and legs trembling under it.

Candy knew he couldn't get far without a horse. But he also know that a wet horse in the winter cold would collapse beneath him before long, and this one already had an injured leg that was bothering it. He had no wish to kill a horse, and were circumstances otherwise he would have done everything he could to spare it. But he knew those men were following him. If they caught him, they would kill him. He could not stop here, nor afford to spare the horse. His choice was one of survival.

It seemed to take tremendous strength, and a long time to gather it, but he finally found enough in him to nudge the horse's sides hard enough to urge it forward once more. The animal moaned a protest, but he pressured it, and it finally obeyed him. The painful journey resumed, though the horse's limp seemed worse than before and it could be driven to no faster pace than a walk.

That was just as well, for it was unlikely that Candy would have been able to stay on the horse had it gone any faster. In fact, as it turned out, he could not even stay at that pace for much longer. The horse hadn't traveled more than a few hundred yards before Candy, with his consciousness abandoning him, loosed his hold and slid off the side of the horse and landed with a soft sound in the frozen snow.

The horse, weary, cold and dazed with pain, did not seem to notice, and continued on without him.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.


	5. As the Story Goes

Clint Tanner and Jeff Kailen had been friends since they were kids. When they had grown up, they'd gone into a partnership, working together to build a small horse ranch. Clint had managed the finances, while Jeff took on the main aspects of raising and training the horses. They'd been successful enough to live on, successful enough that Jeff had eventually taken a wife, Laura. The only problem was that Jeff Kailen was dead, and had been for over six months now, leaving Clint and Laura trying to make it on their own; Laura widowed and heavily pregnant with her first child, the only legacy Jeff Kailen would leave if Clint couldn't get the ranch righted on his own.

But he was woefully unprepared to deal with the horses, and couldn't afford any help. He felt a miserable failure watching the business go belly up despite all his efforts.

The very last thing he needed was trouble with the law, which was what seemed to be riding up to his door that cold December afternoon. The ranch was between two towns, closer to one than the other, but not attached to either. Clint didn't recognize the two deputies, not any more than to think maybe he'd seen them in Elodie a couple of times when he'd been there. But he didn't have much business in Elodie, it was too small to attract much in the way of customers, and there was little money in it.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Clint asked, leaving the wood he'd been chopping up.

"We're looking for an escaped prisoner," one deputy said, "Real dangerous type."

"How dangerous?" Clint wanted to know.

Earnestly, the second deputy leaned forward, showing off a shiner near one of his eyes, "Dangerous enough for this, and to steal a deputy's horse all but out from under him."

"Probably twice as likely to hurt somebody now," said the first deputy, "seeing as he's been shot. Like an animal, he's liable to turn on anybody now he's hurt. He's a mean one, that one is."

"You seen any strangers around?" the second deputy asked, shooting an irritated look at his companion.

"Nope," Clint shook his head, "But I've been in the barn with the horses all mornin' up to now. Anybody could've ridden by and I wouldn't be likely to notice."

The first deputy offered Clint a description of the man he was after.

"Horse he stole came up lame, but somehow he kept it goin'. Only when we found it, he'd abandoned it. Now we're back tracking. He's likely holed up somewhere. Can we check your barn?" the deputy inquired.

"I've been out there all morning, I'd know if he were there. But you're welcome to look," Clint said, "So long as you don't rile up the yearlings. They're nervous with the snow."

The colts weren't actually quite yearlings yet, but close enough that Clint didn't figure there was any reason to call them anything else. The deputies dismounted and he led them to the barn.

It was small and overcrowded with the four yearling colts Clint couldn't figure out what to do with and five mares that had been the pride of Jeff's life. Three bays, a black and a gorgeous red dun were what there was of breeding stock. They owned no stallions and, though Clint had done the business deals, it had always been Jeff who'd selected the horses themselves, something Clint was no good at. Three colts took after their dams, making them bays, but the black mare had produced a startling red chestnut foal through some means Clint didn't understand.

The mares nickered curiously to one another as they regarded the aspect of the invaders with no measurable levels of concern. But the colts shied and moved away at the approach of the strangers. Clint knew he'd gone wrong in their rearing somewhere, but he didn't know quite where or how to fix what he'd done. All the foals this year had been shy of strangers and unwilling to be separated from their dams for even a short period without pitching a fit Clint didn't know how to control.

The deputies looked around the barn, peering into the stalls and shadowy corners. Then they left the barn, and Clint closed it up behind them to keep the cold out.

"Keep an eye out," one of the deputies said, "He may yet pass this way."

"He's extremely dangerous," put in the other, "Since he's unarmed, he may try to fool you into trusting him. Don't believe a word he says."

After that, the deputies said goodbye and rode off, leaving Clint staring after them.

He didn't want any trouble with them, he had troubles enough already without borrowing any more. The problem was that he'd been lying to them from the start. Clint had not been out in the barn all morning, and no rider could have come by without his knowing about it, not with a herd of alert and very friendly mares locked up and bored in the barn. He'd known the deputies were coming because of the stir among the mares long before he'd seen or heard them himself.

Shaking his head worriedly, Clint entered the house and found Laura in the living room, seated on the edge of the coffee table near the couch, where she'd had Clint put the stranger he'd found lying in the snow near the barn. Clint had every reason to believe the stranger had intended to steal one of the horses, more reason now than before the deputies came.

"Now," Clint said to Laura, "Care to tell me why I just did that?"

Finding the stranger was badly hurt, Clint had been willing enough to help him, but it had been on Laura's insistence that he'd kept the truth from the deputies.

Laura leaned forward, applying a warm, damp wash cloth to the forehead of her patient. A strand of blond hair had fallen into her face, her fine porcelain features were still, and in her blue eyes there was the steady calm of a lake in summer. She was not bothered by Clint's uneasy tone, nor did she seem unduly shocked or upset by the fact that this stranger was in her house, bleeding all over her lovely couch. And she also did not appear to care that Clint had just lied to deputies, men of the law.

"Do you have any intention of answering me?" Clint inquired.

Laura's gaze flicked up to look at him, and he saw a hint of mischief playing at the corners of her delicate mouth. It wasn't a smile, because she never smiled anymore, but it was a look of quiet amusement. It was the same look she bore whenever he detailed his troubles with the yearlings, as if somehow he was delivering the punchline to a joke without knowing it.

Clint sighed unhappily, "He's a criminal, you know. Escaped from prison."

"Wearing a gun belt?" Laura inquired in her soft, musical voice.

Clint shrugged his broad shoulders, but began to stroke his dark mustache thoughtfully.

"Perhaps he stole it," Clint suggested.

"And the clothes too?" Laura asked.

"Why not?"

"I heard what those men said," Laura told him, "They did not mention him stealing any clothing or belt, only the horse."

"So?" Clint wanted to know, "There was no reason for them to give me every detail."

"A man running from the law stops to change clothes, and then -instead of trying to disappear- steals a deputy's horse and rides out in broad daylight. Somehow he gets away with a gun belt and horse, but doesn't have either a pistol or a rifle. Come now, Mr. Tanner."

When Jeff had first started falling for Laura, he had referred to her as being like a wild-caught mare, full of spirit and with her own ideas about things, stubborn and fierce and wily as any man but with a grace and refinement to the way she bowled over anyone who stood in her way that you couldn't help but love. For instance, her insistence on calling Clint 'Mr. Tanner'. Almost no one else called him that if they spent more than a few days around him. By his own disposition, he just sort of naturally invited people to call him by his first name.

"Now, Miss Laura, that's hardly proof of anything," Clint had taken to calling her 'Miss Laura' before she'd ever become Mrs. Jeff Kailen, and the habit had proven impossible to break, "There's a lot we don't know, and you can't very well judge a man by his clothes."

"Nor can you judge one based on what other people say of him," Laura retorted.

The people in her hometown had not been at all fond of Jeff. They'd said the Kailen and Tanner boys were a couple of good for nothings who would never amount to anything, and who couldn't be trusted. When Jeff had first bought the red dun mare as a yearling, people had said the same of her. She was too temperamental to make a good dam, and had too much fire to make a riding horse. She would never listen to anything less than whip and spur, and even those would probably only make her vicious. But Jeff had turned that mare around, and everyone seemed to have forgotten what a bad tempered youngster she'd been, and also the awful things they'd said about Jeff.

Everyone, it seemed, except for Laura. She remembered everything, even though she hadn't believed for a minute what the people in her town had to say. She'd done her own judging, and had decided she liked Jeff even in spite of the fact that he loved horses more than he ever cared for people.

"They're not just other people, Miss Laura," Clint protested, "Those were two legally appointed deputies from Elodie."

"That only means they're men from Elodie," Laura replied calmly, "Every man in Elodie has been deputy at one time or another, and we both know how strange that is."

"Strange doesn't mean wrong," Clint pointed out.

"No," Laura agreed, "But this man did some talking when I sent you into the kitchen to boil water. Because he wasn't properly conscious at the time, I'm inclined to believe him."

"Believe him about what?" Clint asked, thoroughly exasperated with the game of prying information out of Laura and desperately trying not to show it.

"Think about it, Mr. Tanner," Laura said, "This man was shot in the back. What does that tell you?"

"Miss Laura," Clint spoke her name warningly, letting her know he was about to walk out of the house in a fury of frustration and go out to chop an unnecessary amount of wood if she didn't stop.

"He said they were going to kill a man's sons," Laura explained, "He was very insistent that this man had to be warned, that the boys were in danger, and that he had to get to the Ponderosa."

"The Ponderosa?" Clint repeated quizzically, "That's the Cartwright ranch. We bred our mares to a couple of their stallions a few years back. Jeff arranged it himself. He said he didn't need any help, that Ben Cartwright was a fair man and wouldn't try to cheat him."

"I remember," Laura said, "I also remember that Jeff said those were the finest colts and fillies we'd ever had, and the price of breeding had been more than worth it."

"Is _he_ one of the Cartwright boys?" Cliff wondered aloud.

"I don't think so," Laura replied, "I don't imagine he'd refer to the owner of the Ponderosa as Mr. Cartwright if he were."

"Then who is he? And what does he care what happens to the Cartwright boys?"

"I don't know," Laura said, "But I don't believe he's any more criminal than you or I. I also heard fear in his voice, and I believe those men intended to kill him if they found him."

"Now really, Miss Laura," Clint said, "Don't you think you might be jumping to conclusions?"

"Check the bullet wound in his back," Laura told him, "And then ask that again."

Clint sighed, his own gentle nature getting the better of him, "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough," Laura answered, "The bullet's still inside, and I don't dare try to reach it myself. He'll have a fever by nightfall for sure."

Laura's father was the doctor in the town she came from, and more than once she'd helped Jeff out with a sick or injured horse by using her medical knowledge and experience. Turned out that, in some ways, horses weren't that different from people, and between the horseman and the doctor's daughter, many horses had been pulled through that might otherwise have died. But a horse with an infection in his leg was a long way from a man who'd been shot.

"He'll be needing a doctor," Laura said patiently, when Clint didn't respond.

"I won't leave you," Clint replied, "You could have that baby any time. And I seem to recall you saying that _you_ don't need a doctor, so why should _he_ get one?"

" _I_ don't," Laura explained for the hundredth time or so, "The pregnancy is entirely normal, and if a mare can give birth to a foal in a pasture with no one save God at her side, there's no reason I can't do just as well. A doctor would be a waste for me, but I haven't got a bullet and whatever debris it dragged in with it infecting me, now do I?"

"Does he have an infection?" Clint asked.

"Not yet," Laura admitted, "But soon, if that bullet isn't removed. Maybe even if it is. I can only do so much with what knowledge and equipment I have."

"Well I'm not leaving you," Clint repeated, "And certainly not alone with him."

"Then you sentence him to death," Laura said flatly.

"We'll do the best we can for him, and it'll have to be enough," Clint told her.

One might think it odd that he could disagree with her so strongly about whether or not the stranger should be handed over to the law, yet stood resolute in his insistence on not leaving her. But the simple fact of the matter was that Clint loved Laura, and always had, and would do whatever she asked so long as it did not suggest to him that there was any danger to herself. So long as she'd had Jeff, Clint had been content because he knew she had married a good man who loved her every bit as much as Clint himself did. Now Jeff was dead and -even had the man not been his friend- Clint felt obligated to take care of Laura, inasmuch as she would allow it.

If only he could find the courage to say that he loved her. He loved her foolishly, without reservation or shame or restriction or uncertainty. But, even if he did find the courage to say all that, what could he offer her? A failing ranch and almost a half dozen mares he didn't know what to do with.

As she could not ride in her condition, not even in the small buckboard, there was no question but that Clint would have to leave her behind if he rode to town for a doctor. And that was something he could not do. Not even if she begged. Not even if it meant this man had to die.

That was how much Clint loved Laura. More than life itself.


	6. Like Mud Beneath the Snow

Lacy Jane Weston was older than she looked, a reality that became surprisingly less and less desirable as she aged. In her youth, she had found a reckless young man and married him. Her father had seen to a swift annulment involving the barrel of a shotgun. He had found her next match, one he approved of because the man had ambition and drive and direction. Unfortunately that direction had led to Elodie, and the gold mine there was said to be in its nearby hills. As it turned out, there was no gold and there should not have been a mine. Now widowed, Lacy found her youthful aspect attracted men who were far younger than she, and who were unreliable and inconceivably rash. She, on the other hand, had matured, and now sought only stability for her life, especially during this trying time of the year.

But between her vixen looks and her running a saloon, Lacy had virtually no chance of attracting any man who was worth having. And so she resigned herself to hopelessly unrequited flirtation with John Holt, the town sheriff, who was in her age range but didn't know it or at least didn't believe it.

It had been she who had unwittingly set the ball rolling the night before when she'd come over to the sheriff's office with their customary brandy nightcap. Sheriff Holt would not accept her flirtatious advances, but he had never once turned down her booze, and last night had been no different.

She had told him of the Cartwrights, and the money they were carrying. Casually -joking really- she had suggested what she and Sheriff Holt could do with so much money, for themselves and the town. It was a romantic fantasy, the sort she wove with practiced expertise. But this time Sheriff Holt had been at least half listening to her. Before she knew it, the joke was no longer funny and nobody was laughing.

It is surprising how quickly desperation can turn to greed.

Sheriff Holt went and woke half a dozen men, and repeated Lacy's notion to them. Instead of telling him he was crazy or even taking his badge before locking him up for proposing such a notion, the men had supported him. Sheriff Holt had guarded the town for a long time, even though there was no profit in it. The town was dying, and everybody knew it. Here at last was a tiny, insane chance of breathing life back into Elodie. The men grasped at it as if they were drowning and the idea was a life raft.

In a way, Lacy supposed they were. Sheriff Holt and she were single, but past their prime and with no place to go. The deputies were mostly married or aspiring to be, though a couple of them were just hanging on in Elodie because there was nothing else for them. They had no families to go to, and had become cut off one way or another from their roots. Elodie was all they had.

Lacy supposed, quite rightly, that neither Joe nor Hoss would be interested in an explanation as to why she and her fellow townsfolk had decided upon this course.

"Lacy," Sheriff Holt acknowledged her with a nod from behind his desk, "What brings you here? And where's the wolf?"

"The wolf's a dog, as you know well, and I haven't seen him in days. He comes and goes as he pleases; always has, always will, Lacy said, then added, "I've brought lunch. For you and for them," she indicated the jail room with a tilt of her head.

Sheriff Holt had sent the deputies out to scour the countryside for Canaday, leaving only himself and Deputy Mayer manning the sheriff's office. Mayer was a sweet man who had come out to Elodie with his parents and brother. His father and brother had been killed when the epidemic swept through that one year, leaving only him to take care of his broken-hearted mother.

Mayer was good looking, even tempered and Lacy unfortunately looked to be about his age. Mayer had never been interested in her, but his presence was a subconscious reminder to Sheriff Holt that Lacy was much younger than he was, even though she vehemently denied it. Sheriff Holt was less friendly and more guarded towards Lacy whenever Mayer was around.

Sheriff Holt grimaced at the mention of lunch, but said "Mayer, take her back there. See the prisoners don't give her no trouble. Shoot 'em if you gotta, but try not to. We need them alive just now."

"Sure thing," Mayer replied, jumping up from the chair he'd been reclining in, eager as a puppy to serve, "This way, Miss Weston."

Lacy had tried in vain to get Mayer to call her by her first name, but the most his severe case of formal etiquette towards women allowed him to unbend was to call her Ms. instead of Mrs.

Mayer was a lot more relaxed around men, particularly those in jail cells.

"Alright you two," Mayer's voice gained an unaccustomed hard edge, "Lunch time. Back against the wall. And don't try anything," he drew his pistol from its holster.

Joe and Hoss didn't know Mayer any more than they knew anybody in this town. They didn't know how easily provoked into shooting he might be, and so they chose to obey him and moved to the wall on the opposite side of the cell from the door and watched closely as Mayer moved forward cautiously and unlocked the door, never taking his eyes off them, then stepped back to make room for Lacy.

"What's the good of feeding us when you just plan to kill us anyway?" Joe asked bitterly.

"Who said anything about killing you?" Lacy inquired politely, stepping just inside the cell and setting the tray she was carrying on the stool right inside the door.

"That crazy sheriff, for one," Joe replied.

"Sheriff Holt?" Lacy straightened and stood inside the cell for a moment, "He can be a little temperamental. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

"Well why don't you go an' ask him if he meant anything by it," Hoss suggested, "An' let us know."

Lacy didn't reply. She backed out of the cell, unwilling to take her eyes off of either Cartwright. She could see in their eyes that they were desperate men, capable of just about anything if it would help to free them, and she figured that included accosting a woman.

She stood back while Mayer locked up the cell. Only then did he return his pistol to its holster. Mayer led the way to the door of the jail room, and held it open for Lacy before following her through. In the main office, Lacy did turn to Sheriff Holt.

"The younger boy says you intend to kill him and his brother," Lacy said levelly, "Is this true?"

Sheriff Holt leaned back in his chair, looked up at her and said, "Yup."

At that answer, Lacy strode around to stand on the opposite side of the desk so she could look Sheriff Holt straight on. He sat up in his chair, but wouldn't stand. Lacy knew he had a bad knee, and so excused the apparent rudeness without a thought. The knee was why he had not joined the posse himself in going after Canaday, though why he'd kept Mayer back instead of another deputy was anyone's guess.

"Why?" Lacy asked, "If their father pays up, why not just let them go?"

"Because I ain't suicidal," Sheriff Holt replied in his easy drawl, "An' I got a passel o' deputies to think about too. Them Cartwrights are known for a lot more'n jus' their money. They got a code they live by, one that won't let 'em ignore criminals or injustice. If we turn those boys loose, they'd have the law down on everyone in Elodie before you could spit."

"I see," Lacy said.

"If you'd done a little askin' around about 'em like I have," Sheriff Holt continued, "You'd know that Cartwright is a military man, an' he with his sons have all been involved in law enforcement at one time or another, as deputies and as sheriffs. They'd bring an army down on us an' wipe us right out."

"I see," Lacy repeated quietly, but Holt wasn't finished.

"We can't keep 'em here forever, an' we can't let 'em go. Only other option is to kill 'em when this is all over, and wipe out any trace of 'em ever bein' here."

"Why not before? Cartwright has no way of knowing if his sons are alive or not," Lacy said.

"Cartwright may ask for proof," Holt replied, "We may have to arrange that somehow."

"I guess that makes sense," Lacy agreed, "Have you talked to Josh?"

Josh Jones was the owner and operator of the town's livery stable, where the two Cartwright horses and Canaday's animal were still stabled. Lacy knew every one of those horses bore the Ponderosa brand. Even if they hadn't been so branded, the pinto was so distinctive in color and conformation that it would take a blind man to miss him, and the big brown was equally noticeable to anyone used to horses. The chestnut might be possible to change the brand of, but anyone who'd been up close to him would know even the least remarkable of the three. They would need to be gotten rid of somehow.

Holt shook his head, "He took the saddles, but I haven't explained to him what I want done with the horses just yet. Haven't had time."

"What is it you want done?" Lacy asked.

"I want 'em taken outta town, far out, an' tacked up like normal, then turned loose. They'll either hightail it for home or else be found roamin' around miles away from here."

"Throwing the hounds off the scent, so to speak," Lacy said, then added after a moment, "Sheriff, why don't I take a run over to the livery and talk to Josh for you?"

"I'd sure appreciate that, Lacy," Sheriff Holt replied.

Lacy smiled. She knew it was not a good thing they were doing, but that was okay with her because they were in it together. And with plenty of money, she would be able to close down her saloon, and become a more respectable lady, one Sheriff Holt might become interested in. Even aside from that, going along with him on this was sure to impress him in some fashion. And if not... at least she would never want for anything materially again.

She supposed that if the most she got for Christmas was an expensive fur coat and a bottle of fancy wine, that would be enough. After all, she'd had much less in years past and never complained; she deserved some of the finer things in life as a reward for long years of patience and hard work.

* * *

Ben tried to concentrate on his work. He certainly had enough to do to keep himself occupied. Even had there not been paperwork to go over, plans to make and the like, Ben had enough hobbies to keep busy. It should not have been difficult to find at least one thing to occupy his attention and time. But his mind just kept going back to the inexplicable worry. Over and over, he found himself wondering where his boys were, what they were doing, if they were in trouble.

It was not his habit to worry senselessly, or to let worry prevent him from doing his work. But that was assuredly what was happening now. He couldn't focus on what he was doing, and he found himself looking up at every sound, expecting someone to come in with bad news about his boys, even though that was ridiculous even if something was wrong. They were a long way from home. Too far.

He found himself getting up and pacing around, or alternatively standing and staring out the windows.

He tried distracting himself with coffee, but to Hop Sing's intense annoyance, Ben found himself forgetting about it and getting lost in thought. He sugared it several times before he finally gave up and returned it to the kitchen without its having been tasted. Hop Sing let out a steady string of curses in Chinese and began to bang pots around.

Eventually, unable to stand staying around the house anymore, Ben decided to go for a ride. He didn't know about the snow storm that had hit up north where his sons were, because it had barely gotten this far. There was a little snow, but not even enough to fully cover the dry winter grass.

Ben's buckskin wasn't very fond of it. Buck was an intelligent animal, and he enjoyed being ridden over peaceful countryside on nice days. Unlike Joe's pinto, Buck didn't get much of a winter coat and felt the cold a bit more keenly than some of the other horses. His breath clouded in the winter air, and he wanted to go right back to his warm barn.

Of course, Buck could also read his rider's agitation even before they rode out, and that made him act out a bit. But Buck's way of acting out was simply to try and turn away, go back home. Despite his name, he never bucked nor reared, and seldom bolted even at the sound of war whoops and gunshots. He was a calm, generally agreeable horse, and accustomed to being treated like one.

So when Ben refused to let him head back for home, Buck accepted his fate and went along peaceably.

Buck fell into an easy gait that could not rightly be called a trot or a canter, but somehow felt between the two. He had a smooth stride and Ben had always enjoyed the horse's easy movements.

He didn't really intend to ride in to Virginia City, but that's where he wound up. He'd been letting the easy ride and cold air clear his thoughts, and convince him that he was worrying over nothing. Buck slowed down on his own as they entered town. The horse knew Ben's habits well, and knew the man preferred to ride into town at a walk normally. Ideally the streets were clear, but Ben knew that sometimes there were people visiting from back east who didn't seem to understand the rules of the west, and also sometimes little kids would run out into the street. A fast moving horse was an accident waiting to happen in a town or city, and so Ben preferred to take his time.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when he rode in, but Ben felt his concerns coming back.

He decided to go see Sheriff Coffee, though he wasn't really sure why. He just had a feeling...

* * *

The boys were not particularly interested in lunch. It looked from a distance a lot like what they'd had for breakfast, and they weren't eager to have a second helping. A closer look didn't make it any more appealing and neither of them was hungry enough to try it and find out if it was really the same stuff. So instead they just sat with their backs to the wall, staring at it balefully.

"How far do you think Candy's gotten by now?" Hoss wondered aloud.

"Assuming he's still on the horse," Joe said slowly after a moment's thought, "I'd guess he's made Dewton by now. That's the next town, right?"

"Yeah," Hoss nodded, "That's kinda what I figured too. Oughta be okay if he gets there, shouldn't he? Town's got a doctor and a telegraph office, and that's all he really needs."

"I suppose so," Joe agreed, "I hadn't really thought about it that way, but I guess he doesn't need to get all the way home," then he frowned and fell silent.

"What?" Hoss asked.

"I was just thinkin'... that sheriff said he sent a deputy to send a telegraph. That deputy might be in Dewton, or somewhere on the road to it. If Candy meets up with him... he won't stand a chance. Especially since everyone in on this has seen us and knows what we look like, but Candy won't be able to recognize the deputy except by the badge."

"An' even then, he's got no call to avoid the law in general, just the Elodie deputies," Hoss realized, "An' he won't know it's an Elodie badge except from up real close."

Joe nodded mutely, and went back to staring at the inedible looking lunch.


	7. No Trip Could Be Too Far

Candy woke with painful slowness. He was dazed, confused and cold. Even before he opened his eyes, he was uncomfortably aware that he had no idea where he was. Looking around was not at all reassuring. He was indoors somewhere, but he had no idea where. Nothing looked familiar and his anxiety increased as his memory began to piece itself back together.

He started to try to sit up, not really remembering why exactly but knowing he had to get home. He had to do something. He had to warn Mr. Cartwright, tell him... Candy searched his groggy memory. His head ached, and the attempt to sit up sent a flaming bolt of pain across his back that made him gasp.

"I wouldn't sit up just yet if I were you."

He didn't know the voice and flinched. His eyes met those of a blond beauty, one who was very pregnant by the looks of it. He blinked at her in a turmoil of confusion. She gazed back calmly, as if all of this were very normal and nothing to be upset about.

"My name is Laura," she said, and Candy was relieved to find that she was a stranger after all because he had no memory of her, "We found you outside our barn, passed out."

"We?" Candy inquired, still half-sitting up, gripping the back of the couch he was lying on and looking around for the rest of whoever 'we' happened to be.

"Clint and I," Laura replied mildly, "He's in the kitchen, getting more hot water and bandages. I'm afraid my initial patch job was a bit rushed. You were bleeding quite a bit, and it seemed more important to get that stopped than to do a pretty job of it."

"Oh," Candy nodded vaguely, his mind beginning to fill in the blanks.

He'd been shot. He remembered that now. Shot while trying to escape. But why? What was he running from? He felt light-headed and dizzy, even though he wasn't moving, but he refused to lie back down. He had to go... to get back to the Ponderosa and Mr. Cartwright. He didn't quite know why, but he was sure it would come to him, and he knew somehow that there was no time to waste.

Gradually, he worked his way to a more upright position, and rotated so his back was against the couch. The effort left him gasping, and he had no idea how he'd sit a horse in the condition he was in now. A horse... that reminded him, he didn't have one of those. What had happened to his? Faintly, he recalled being rocked painfully on the back of a limping horse. It had been cold, and there had been wind.

"Oh, my head," Candy mumbled, putting a hand to his forehead and trying to breathe deeply.

The agony in his back that resulted caused him to forget deeply, and he just breathed as best he could.

"You really shouldn't be sitting up," Laura advised, "You could reopen the wound. And the bullet's still inside, moving around could make things worse for you."

"I... have to go," Candy said hesitantly, wondering what standing up would be like, "I need to... get home."

"So you've said," Laura told him gently, "You talked quite a bit in your sleep."

He looked at her sharply, wondering what all he might have said, and if it should worry him.

"And it's a good thing for you that you did," the sound of a masculine voice coming from somewhere behind him made Candy jump, and he winced, "Because otherwise we'd have turned you over to those sheriff's deputies that were here looking for you."

From around behind the couch, there came a tall man with dark hair and a mustache. Candy imagined that this must be Clint. Based on his -very limited- knowledge, it could hardly be anyone else.

"What did I say?" Candy asked uneasily, hoping not only to find out what these people knew, but also to jog his memory.

"You told us about the Cartwright boys being in trouble. Hoss and Joe, you called them. You said you had to get word to their father. You said the sheriff in Elodie wanted you dead."

Candy's brow furrowed. Slowly, his memory began to surface, and he realized why he needed to go home. He also realized that he didn't even have to get there. All he needed was to get word there, which meant sending a message via the nearest telegraph office.

"I need to get a message to Mr. Cartwright, right away," Candy said, then asked, "What's the nearest town that has a telegraph office?"

"That'd be Dewton," Clint replied, "That's only about fifteen miles as the crow flies."

"Could you send a message to Mr. Cartwright for me?" Candy asked, "It's urgent. I haven't got money on me now, but I swear I'd pay you for it once I do."

"No," Clint replied, "I can't leave Laura. Not for anything."

"Then I'm afraid I need to borrow a horse from you, if you've got one," Candy said.

"No," Clint repeated, a hard edge to his voice.

Candy felt a twinge of frustration, but he didn't let it touch his tone when he said, "Look, I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I'll find a way to pay for the use of the horse, and I'll see it gets back to you."

"We've only got one horse without a foal clinging to her, and she's the most valuable animal we own," Clint said, "And, besides, you'd never make it in your condition. You can't stand, much less sit a horse."

"You'd be surprised what a man can do with the proper motivation," Candy told him.

"Why is it so important to you?" Laura asked, "Who are these Cartwrights that you would risk your life for them in such a reckless way?"

Instead of answering, Candy shot back, "Who am I that you didn't turn me over to the deputies?"

"It was the right thing to do," Laura said simply, "We could not do otherwise."

"There's your answer," Candy said.

It wasn't the whole truth, or even most of it, but he figured it was sufficient to convince her, and he could see from the way she and Clint exchanged looks that she was the one he needed to convince. He was not wrong, for Laura looked up at Clint, and he seemed to deflate on seeing the look in her eyes.

"I'll go saddle the mare," Clint said quietly.

Candy watched him go, half-suspicious and not really knowing why.

"At the very least you have to let me redo the bandaging," Laura said, "Only I'll do it right this time. I don't want to disturb the first layer, but the rest needs some work."

It was not the first time Candy had been shot, and so he saw easily the wisdom of her request. He acceded to it, and thanked her when she was finished. He noted that she worked with no small amount of skill. It wasn't just in her hands though. In her voice when she spoke there was also a quiet and gentle but undeniable tone of authority. It was the sort of voice one would use to settle down a wildly frightened horse, or to tame an equally unruly youth.

Candy then experimented with actually getting up. He found he had a reserve of strength left after all. Though it was not much, he hoped it might get him the fifteen miles to Dewton. While he was figuring how best to move around without making the injury all the angrier, Laura picked up the cloth she had used and the bowl of now lukewarm water.

"You must love them very much," she said as she went into the kitchen.

"I suppose you could put it that way," Candy replied somewhat guardedly.

Clint returned then, coming in and closing the door quietly in time to hear Laura's further remark.

"It's good to have someone to love that much."

"Yes," Candy said, taking in the strange look on Clint's face and recognizing it for what it was, "I guess it is."

"The horse is ready," Clint said, "She's waiting out front."

"Thank you," Candy said, "I'll make sure she gets back to you alright."

Just as he started to pass Clint, the man caught his shoulder briefly.

"Be careful," Clint warned, "Your courage might cost you your life if you aren't."

Candy looked at the floor briefly, embarrassed.

"It's not courage," Candy assured him with a wry grin, "Just sheer ornery stubbornness. I take a notion into my head to do something, and then I don't quit, no matter how stupid it is."

"Sure," Clint said, but it was clear that he did not believe that.

He watched Candy go, and a thought began to form in his mind. If Candy could do such a thing for the people he loved, how much harder then would it be for Clint to do what he should have done long ago? Slowly, he turned towards the kitchen where he knew Laura was.

As he heard the sound of the horse cantering away through the snow, Clint said hesitantly, "Laura, there's something I need to tell you. Something you need to know."

Laura appeared then in the doorway of the kitchen, and smiled in that special way of hers.

"I think I already know," she said, "But tell me anyway."

Of course she knew. She always had. Long before Jeff ever worked up the courage to propose, Laura had let on to Clint that she knew he wanted to. She'd known even before Jeff himself. So of course she knew. But she was too much a lady to say it for him, and had waited for Clint to work it out for himself.

She was that kind of woman, and Clint loved her for it.

* * *

Josh Jones listened to the instructions of Sheriff Holt as relayed by Lacy Jane, but when she was finished, he shook his head emphatically.

"I got a better idea," he pronounced the last as 'ID', "Them horses is worth more money apiece than every critter in Elodie put together. I plan to sell 'em."

"To who?" Lacy asked incredulously, "Sheriff Holt wouldn't let anybody in Elodie keep 'em."

"Who said anythin' 'bout Elodie?" Josh shook his head again, "Nobody here's got the money them horses is worth. I gotta take 'em outta town. If I sell 'em off outside o' town, it still gets rid o' 'em, and that's what the sheriff wants anyhow. What's he care how they go or where, jus' so long as they ain't here no more?"

It sounded pretty reasonable to Lacy. After all, the only real concern was that the horses not be found here in Elodie. Nobody Josh tried to sell to would know until too late (if ever) that the horses weren't his. By then he would be long gone, nobody would be able to find out where.

"Well, you'd best get started then," Lacy recommended.

"Nope," Josh shook his head one more time, "I ain't goin' nowhere 'til the snow clears out a bit. Can't drive a pack o' horses through snow like this without riskin' damage to 'em, maybe even losin' 'em."

"Sheriff Holt wants those horses gone, and fast," Lacy said, "If anyone found them here-"

"Who's gonna find 'em here? Even if Cartwright goes lookin' for his boys or hires a whole posse to, why would they come to Elodie? Cartwrights ain't never been here before, and you talked to that Canaday fella first thing this morning. You remember he said this town wasn't in any plan o' theirs. It just sorta happened that they stopped here."

"I suppose that's true," Lacy admitted.

"So all we gotta do with them horses is keep 'em until the snow thaws. Any strangers come into town, we jus' keep them outta sight."

"Would that be difficult? Keeping horses locked up like that?" Lacy inquired.

"Doubt it," Josh replied, "Horses huddle up together in winter anyhow, stick to shelter and don't move around much if they don't have to."

As though it had understood the ludicrous statement, the pinto suddenly kicked out at the wood of his stall and whinnied impatiently.

"He doesn't sound very happy," Lacy observed.

"Ain't," Josh confirmed, "That one's the only wrinkle. Bad tempered cuss, that one. Crankier by the minute, like as not used to spoilin', bein' a rich man's horse an' all."

The pinto nipped at the air and bobbed his head irritably, then kicked at his stall when another gust of wind blew across his hocks. He snorted and turned around in his stall, then turned again.

"Won't he attract a lot of notice?" Lacy asked.

"It comes to that, I'll shoot 'im to keep 'im quiet. Likely it won't. Like I said, Lacy Jane, ain't nobody comin' to Elodie to look for them Cartwrights."

Cochise snorted and pawed at the floor of his stall, laying back his ears in frustration. He was a work horse, used to labor and sometimes unpleasant environments, but he was accustomed to being stabled properly, cared for, well-fed and exercised. Josh hadn't even fed the horses this morning, and their water buckets were iced over now on account of the drafts in the stable. Candy's chestnut and Hoss' dark brown were quiet in their misery, but the little pinto was angry, and he wanted the man to know it.

Though he owned a livery stable, Josh was not a horseman, and he ignored the pinto.

* * *

"Awful cold day for a casual ride, isn't it, Ben?" Sheriff Coffee inquired, offering Ben a hot mug of his namesake.

Ben took it, grateful for the warm brew after the cold air outside. He'd already asked Roy if there was anything going on that ought to concern him. Roy Coffee had been adamant that things were peaceful and quiet, the way it was intended to be at this time of year. He said it seemed like most folks knew better than to cause a lot of trouble around Christmastime. Like as not, most of the criminal types in the county were at home with their own families instead of roaming the countryside looking for trouble.

"They say crime goes up on holidays in those big cities back east," Roy had remarked, "Folks see law enforcement wants to take the day off, and they just naturally take advantage of it. I guess they have more sense out here."

Ben had nodded sagely, but made no comment. He'd spent enough time in those cities to know it went a lot deeper than that. In the city, people seemed to feel more keenly the need for things and money, because they had to keep up appearances or prove to themselves they were equal or superior to the people around them. Out here in the wide open spaces, it wasn't like that. A man could have space to breathe and think out here, and it was a long ride to anywhere he might commit a crime, and that took care of most people who would become criminals on impulse because they had time to think on it.

Before they could continue, a boy of about fifteen came running into the office.

"Mr. Cartwright!" the boy exclaimed, "I saw your horse outside and, well, I was sent to bring this to you," he held out a telegram, which Ben took and read silently.

Seeing his grim look, Roy asked, "What is it, Ben?"

"My reason for coming to town," Ben replied grimly.

The paper he held in his hands was a ransom note.


	8. Somebody Needs You

In the evening, Joe and Hoss regarded their dinner with a sort of weary resignation. It seemed like the only thing Lacy knew how to prepare was a brown something akin in texture to shoe leather. They hadn't eaten lunch, and the simple fact of the matter was that they were hungry, and had nothing to do except for sit and think about how hungry they were, which made it difficult -if not impossible- to ignore.

"I suppose we should count ourselves lucky," Joe remarked, frowning at his plate, "Wherever Candy is right now, I bet he hasn't had a chance to eat anything."

Hoss poked at his dinner, and contemplated not eating it. He didn't feel especially lucky. Whatever was going on with Candy, at least he was doing something. The waiting, the not knowing what was going on beyond these walls, the awareness that the people holding him and his brother captive intended to eventually to kill them was driving him mad. Whatever was happening to Candy, at least he could do _something_.

Hoss continued to poke the meal listlessly, but Joe looked up at the sound of a horse somewhere outside. He stood up and went to the barred window, which was too high for him to look out of.

"That was Cochise," Joe reported.

"Aw, Joe, you can't know that," Hoss said, even though he knew Cochise's demanding neigh of hunger as well as Joe did, "It could be any horse in town."

"It could be, but it's not," Joe said, not moving away from the window, "I bet that lazy livery owner hasn't done a thing with the horses all day. They're probably hungrier than we are."

Rather than move away, Joe simply turned his back to the wall and sank down to a sitting position while leaning against it. He sighed miserably. Joe had never been any good at waiting. He was impatient, and from his earliest days had been a person of action.

It had been hard work for Hoss, their pa and big brother Adam to break Joe to cattle driving. The boy was always trying to run the cattle. He wasn't content with the animals going the right direction, he wanted them to do it swiftly, and it took a long time for him to understand that running cattle made them lose condition and lowered their value, even aside from the risk of stampeding them or injuring either the cattle or the cowboys herding them. Young Joe would blast into a tight knit group of cattle, scattering them in all directions and then wasting effort and time chasing them all back together. Joe had too much fire in him to manage a cattle drive on his own, his temper and impatience made him disastrous with cattle and cowboys alike.

Though he'd been chasing after and imitating his older brothers from the time he learned to walk, Joe had never managed to emulate Adam's mild disposition or Hoss' genial personality, both of which gave them patience and a certain calmness when they dealt with people and cattle. In the years since Adam left, Joe had mellowed some, but he still sometimes got this blaze in his eyes and seemed to revert back to his old ways.

Hoss remembered when Joe had been training Cochise. Joe had rushed things, wanted to move on too soon from basic gentling to advanced tricks and difficult maneuvers. Cochise was a smart little horse, but even now he had a few bad habits that were the direct result of Joe's impatience. The pinto chewed on his bit pretty incessantly, and he would rear up when drawn to a stop from a canter, and also tended to take nips at any horse that put their head down in front of him when he was bridled. With a little patience and persistence, Joe probably could have cured the behaviors when they first cropped up. After years though, it was probably too late, and Joe never seemed to mind his horse's antics.

Joe and that pony were about as close as two beings of different species could be, and Joe knew the horse's every little quirk. Of course he knew that neigh was Cochise, and that Cochise was hungry.

But he also knew he couldn't do anything about it.

Seeing a dark look coming into his brother's eyes, Hoss decided to try and distract him.

"Hey, Joe, you remember that Christmas Pa went out to get a tree an' his horse pulled up lame?" Hoss inquired.

Joe was silent for a moment, then allowed himself to be distracted, "I remember you and Adam trying to convince me he wasn't really late. I almost believed you when you said he was hunting a wild turkey for Christmas dinner. But the more time went by without him getting back, the wilder your stories got."

Joe had been about eleven or twelve years old at the time and Adam -recently returned from college- had been having trouble reconnecting with his family, Little Joe in particular. He'd felt the need to keep Joe from worrying about their father being late, and had enlisted Hoss' aid. But as the minutes ticked away into hours and his own worry mounted, Adam's concocted stories had become gradually more outlandish. Joe had pretended to believe him, but eventually had slipped out the upstairs window.

He'd gone out to the barn and saddled up his young pinto, who was still mostly wild at that point. Cochise had at the time balked any time pressure was put on his mouth by the bit, but Joe had ridden out on him anyway. He'd always been at his most reckless with horses.

"Pa got home and we were there, Adam an' me," Hoss said, "We didn't even know you'd gone until Pa turned to Adam. 'Adam,' he said in that stern voice of his, 'Where's Joe?' And Adam just turned dead white. He knew. He didn't even look upstairs, went right out and checked the barn for Cochise. Pa was about ready to wup us both for losin' track of you, but first we had to find you."

"I remember," Joe said, "And I remember going up this steep incline and trying to pull Cooch to a stop so I could look around. I yanked him too hard, and he threw me. I rolled all the way down that hill and wound up buried in the snow, unconscious."

That might have been the first time Cochise threw Joe, but it was far from the last. Joe was completely fearless on the back of a horse. He rode too fast, turned to sharp, jumped too high, asked too much. Through it all, Cochise had never turned mean on Joe, not like most horses would. The two of them had a kind of rapport that Hoss believed hadn't really started until that cold winter's night when the half-wild horse had decided not to run back home, an action that had undoubtedly saved Joe's life.

"We'd never have found you if that pinto hadn't gone and stood right next to where you'd landed, just like he'd been tied there," Hoss said, "Pa had been thinkin' he was too much horse for you, but -even though he threw you in the first place- that he stayed with you was enough to win Pa over."

"Cochise has been looking out for me ever since," Joe said, "No matter what trouble I get into."

Outside, the pinto's demanding neigh cleaved the silence of the town in two, a piercing clarion call carried on the icy air. Joe flinched, and closed his eyes, knowing he could do nothing, praying that God would keep Candy safe, and that they would somehow get out of this with their lives.

"That was a good Christmas," Joe said finally.

"Yeah," Hoss agreed, "It sure was."

* * *

The red dun mare was one of the nicest horses Candy had ever ridden, though he couldn't much appreciate the sleekness of her red-gold coat or the brilliance of the white blaze on her face, or the silken dark red of her mane, tail and lower legs under the circumstances. At present, rather than her lovely conformation and coloring, he appreciated other traits.

Firstly, she wasn't terribly tall, which had made getting on her back as easy as could be, something Candy needed since it had taken more strength to get up than he'd expected. She'd stood quietly for it, not trying to wander off, which was good because he was in no shape to catch her if she drifted.

She responded to the gentlest touch, and seemed not to resent it if he was clumsy in his cues. She didn't object to the leaden way he sat in the saddle, which he did simply because he had no energy to do anything else. She tolerated it when he wobbled where he sat. She made no attempt to go off her own way, and instead took every instruction with grace. If he failed to give her one, she would pick her own footing without altering the course he'd set her on.

And that was the greatest thing about the mare. Her strides were long, effortless and smooth, whether they were in shallow snow or deep. Candy could barely feel her moving because she kept her back very still as she went along, even in the clear areas where he could let her canter instead of walk. She never changed pace of her own accord, though he supposed she might have if he'd asked her to gallop over rough ground. As it was, she walked, trotted or cantered as he asked it of her.

The mare seemed tireless as she went, and never impatient with her directions, even though she bore a strange rider who had pulled her out of her warm barn to canter about in the cold and snow. Her breath came in great frosty plumes, and she carried herself as if she had great and dignified business somewhere. In short, she was a much fancier horse than he would have expected on seeing the house and barn belonging to Clint Tanner and Laura Kailen.

He understood now their reluctance to send him out on this horse, as she was clearly worth her weight in gold, especially if she could produce foals like herself.

And then he found out that she wouldn't spook. The mare's hooves disturbed a hare that had been hiding in the snow and it bolted suddenly right in front of her. Candy expected her to blow up at the sudden flash of unexpected motion, but her head merely lifted a fraction and her nostrils widened, and then she settled right back down without any intervention from her rider or even a break in stride.

At one point after he'd been riding almost an hour, he fell from the saddle and lost consciousness. He didn't have any means of judging how long he'd been out, but when he woke up he found the mare had stopped the moment her reins dropped to the ground, and stood with her head lowered and back humped against the cold, waiting for him to get up.

"Good girl," Candy managed to say, before weakly climbing back up on the mare's back.

He patted her frequently, not just to praise her, but as a means of keeping himself awake and also to reassure himself in a way. He couldn't quite believe his good fortune in getting this horse, it seemed like a heaven sent gift, and he was afraid of what would happen if he lost it.

But though the mare was a good one, travel was slow, and Candy had to stop more than once to catch his breath and get his bearings. It had been a long ride from Elodie, at least it had felt like the longest one of his life. Snow covered the road, and Candy could never be sure if he was following it or if he'd wandered off at some point because he didn't know this particularly stretch of land very well.

Candy had no way of knowing it, but if he'd just trusted the mare, she would have picked her way to town. Regardless of his business, if Jeff Kailen was going that way at all, he always made at least a brief stop in Dewton, and the mare had learned the habit years ago. She must have found Candy's questionable guidance to be rather interfering, but she held any temper she might've had. She'd been a real spitfire in her youth, but Jeff Kailen had tamed the rebel in her without also breaking her spirit, and with age had come to her a great patience and placid disposition.

But Candy didn't know any of that. He couldn't.

And so because his of doubt, hesitation and fatigue, it took far longer to reach Dewton than it would have otherwise. The early darkness of winter had closed in by the time they rode slowly into Dewton. On his first pass through town, Candy bypassed the sheriff's office and hunted for the telegraph office.

He managed to find the telegraph office on his second pass, but it didn't do him any good. The telegraph office had been closed for the night. Still, he dismounted, left the mare tied to a hitching post and went to knock on the door, just to be sure. He gave up before long, as clearly there was no one inside. He stood leaning against the locked door for a moment, thinking and weighing his options.

Candy preferred to avoid the local law enforcement, because it never went well for him when he talked to sheriffs. They had the annoying tendency to arrest him for things he hadn't done. He was in town riding a horse that wasn't his, carrying a gun belt that had no gun in it, and having no money nor paper of any kind on his person. In short, he looked like someone who'd busted out of jail and was on the run from the law. In a peculiar kind of way, that's exactly what he was.

He didn't much fancy his chances of explaining the peculiarities of his situation.

But his other option wasn't very good either. He could wait for the telegraph office to open. But he had no way of knowing if it was closed for bad weather or just for the night. Possibly it would remain closed indefinitely. Aside from which, he wasn't sure he could survive a night out on the street in his present condition, and he had no money to give him an alternative to that.

Momentarily, he entertained the notion of seeing the town doctor. But Candy knew doctors. If he got near one, they'd prescribe bed rest and hogtie him if they had to. Doctors were often quite serious about their patient's following their instructions. He didn't need some doctor sticking him in a back room and refusing to let anyone talk to him. No time for that sort of nonsense.

He knew that any attempt to make it all the way back to the Ponderosa now would kill him. Noble as that might sound, he knew there was no logic to it, as he had to be alive to relay what he knew. He didn't particularly like the fact that he didn't know much, but he realized that he knew enough. He knew where Hoss and Joe were, and he knew who was holding them. He knew that whatever was going on, it was definitely crooked, as there was no lawful excuse for ordering Candy shot before he even attempted to escape. It wasn't much of a stretch for him to concoct a believable theory as to what was going on, but the plain and simple fact of it was that it didn't really matter. The Cartwright boys were in trouble, and their father needed to know about it. The why didn't matter like the who and where did.

Pushing off the door of the telegraph office, Candy made it to where the red dun mare was waiting. He untied her, but made no attempt to get up on her back. Instead, he simply turned her in the direction of the Dewton sheriff's office and, using her shoulder for support, headed off in that direction.

Let the sheriff lock him up for something he didn't do, just so the knowledge he was carrying got passed to Ben Cartwright. It was all he cared about now.


	9. Wait a Minute, I Can Explain

The note Ben had in hand demanded a ludicrous amount of money, divided into two sums, one for each son. It promised that proof of the boys' capture would be delivered in a few days, along with instructions as to how he was supposed to transport and deliver the money.

He passed the note to Roy, and the sheriff read it slowly.

When he looked up, he asked one question, "You believe this, Ben?"

"I do," Ben answered, "It wouldn't make sense to spend the money to send this by wire if it wasn't. It instructs me to go to Dewton, which is well within range of where I would expect the boys to be today. I also don't expect they would promise proof if they didn't have any. They would make threats instead, and insist that I take the money immediately to some isolated area."

"Too expensive to be a prank," Roy nodded thoughtfully, "Too direct to be a lie."

"My thinking exactly," Ben replied.

"Well what are you gonna do?" Roy inquired.

"I'm going to ride to Dewton, and make arrangements for the money to be waiting in the bank," Ben answered, "I don't see as I have another choice."

"I suppose you don't need me to tell you to be careful," Roy said.

"No," Ben replied, "I don't."

* * *

Sleep was not possible.

It wasn't just the insistent neighing of Cochise outside. The jail room was drafty and cold, and as night closed in the temperature dropped like a stone. Joe was eventually obliged to move over to where Hoss was, in a corner of the cell where the wind couldn't find them. They sat pressed up next to each other, shivering miserably and staring at the door to the jail room.

"I do believe this is the most miserable jail cell I've ever been in," Hoss said, "An' I been in a few."

"I've been in more," Joe asserted, "And yet I agree with you."

"Oh, you have not," Hoss disagreed, "You jus' been in jail more often is all."

Joe's habits of losing his temper, being in the wrong place at the wrong time and taking the wrong side in an argument had all put him at odds with the law more than once. Most often, it was a mistake and he really hadn't done anything, but occasionally he was chucked into the local jail for disturbing the peace or brawling in a place that was unseemly for such behavior. Hoss and Adam had learned that, if they couldn't find Joe, they should always check the jail because their little brother was probably there.

"Now that's just not true," Joe said, "I may have been in jail more often, but I've also been in more jails total. You want to count them?"

"No, Joe, I can't say as I want to count 'em. I'll jus' take your word for it," Hoss replied.

"Why not?" Joe asked, "It's something to do, isn't it?"

"I'd rather talk about somethin' less miserable than this here jail cell."

Joe was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Okay," Joe said, "How 'bout we stick to Christmases past? Remember the year you wanted to propose to Sally P.?"

"Boy do I ever," Hoss sighed reflectively, "Daughter of Mr. P., owner of the feed store for four years before he quit and moved south to Texas."

The man and his daughter had an impossibly long and unpronounceable last name, but it had begun with a P, and so that's what people had taken to calling them. They were the Ps, because nobody dared try and speak their real last name, much less spell it. Everyone in town had known them. And everyone knew that Hoss was sweet on Sally, a dark eyed, raven-haired beauty with one of the sweetest smiles in all of Nevada. Everyone knew, that is, except for Sally.

Though her father lived in town for four years, Sally was there only for one. During her stay, she spent a lot of time with Hoss, and he became increasingly distracted from his work. Finally, at the urging of his brothers, Hoss had decided to propose to her at the Cartwright Christmas party. He and Sally had gone out onto the porch when it got dark to look at the stars. She and Hoss had both tried to speak at the same time, but Hoss was the gentleman and he let her go first, at which time Sally confessed that she had a fella in Boston who had just sent her a letter, asking her to move to Boston and marry him. She had accepted, and had come to the Christmas party specifically to say goodbye.

Sally had told Hoss she was very grateful for his companionship, he'd been a great friend to her, and made her feel welcome and safe in this place that was so very strange to her. Hoss had pretended that friendship was the only thing he'd ever had on his mind. He'd been too shy to make much in the way of overt advances, and Sally had completely -but innocently- misread his intentions.

"Thing I remember most," Hoss told Joe, "Is what happened after the party."

Hoss had returned to the house looking stricken and upset. None of the guests had noticed him enter the house and quietly move around the edges of the room. But Adam and Joe, each in the midst of dancing with whichever pretty girls were available, picked up on it from across the room. They had exchanged glances and excused themselves from the dance.

Ben had come over shortly thereafter, having noticed his three sons convening in the far corner of the dining room, away from the guests where normally they would have been happily and politely mingling. Hoss explained to them what had happened. He'd asked to be excused from the party and went upstairs to his room to be alone with his thoughts, while the rest of the family dutifully returned to entertaining their guests. Except for Joe, who instead slipped outside.

"Why'd you go an' ride off like that anyhow?" Hoss inquired, "I never could figure out what you were doin' out there."

"I rode out to give that girl a piece of my mind," Joe answered, "I guess it was the first time I'd ever seen a broken heart, and I wanted her to know she'd hurt you. I even wanted to make her cry."

Sally had left in a buggy after talking to Hoss. Joe had taken his horse out less than thirty minutes later with the intention of riding after her. Adam noticed his absence, and realized what his little brother was up to. He rode out a few minutes later, even though he had no hope of catching up with Joe. Both Adam and his horse, Sport, were more sensible than to gallop the icy road in the dark, but Joe wasn't and Cochise would take risks for his young master without blinking.

"Adam found me about a half mile down the road," Joe said, "Cochise hit a patch of ice and went down on top of me. I'd've been dead if he hadn't rolled right off."

"It's a wonder he didn't trample you getting up," Hoss remarked.

"Any other horse would have," Joe replied, then added, "I never did catch up with Sally."

"I'm glad you didn't," Hoss told him, "Wasn't her fault. She didn't know I was sweet on her."

"Yeah, I know. But I wasn't thinking that night. All I knew was that she'd hurt you, and I wanted to hurt her right back. I got what I deserved," Joe laughed quietly.

"Broke pert near every rib you had, as I recall," Hoss said, "I just remember Adam bustin' into the house and shoutin' for Pa. I didn't even know the party had broken up until I came downstairs to see what had happened. I remember askin' what happened, an' you never told. Adam just said you'd pulled a dumb stunt on that horse of yours. He didn't tell me where he'd found you."

"You were hurt enough at the time," Joe said, "Adam and I decided you didn't need to know I got hurt because of you and Sally. Besides, it was my own fault. I was stupid."

"You sure were at that," Hoss agreed.

"I'm just glad I don't get thrown by Cochise every Christmas. Frozen ground is hard stuff to hit."

"You really weren't hurt so bad the first time," Hoss pointed out, "Just a knock on the head."

"Yeah, and my ears were ringing for a month," Joe said.

"That year you broke your ribs, I wondered why Pa never lectured you about ridin' your horse too fast."

"Pa knew why I did it," Joe told him, "He asked me if I realized what I'd been trying to do was wrong. I'd had a little time to simmer down, so I told him I did. Sally was a nice girl, and I knew that, but I hadn't been thinking about her when I rode out. Pa let it go at that."

"You shoulda heard Adam complain about having to take care of your horse while you was laid up," Hoss said, "You ain't never heard a grown man complain so much about so little."

"That's funny," Joe said, "Adam never said a word to me."

"Prob'ly for the same reason you never told me what you was doin' gallopin' around the countryside after dark when you shoulda known better. You was already hurt, no reason to go rubbin' it in."

"I guess so," Joe said, "You sure rubbed it in though."

"I didn't know," Hoss reminded him, "An' I was worried you might go an' do it again."

"I probably would have too," Joe said, "But Cochise had more sense. I never could get him to gallop at night in icy weather again," he paused, then laughed, "Not that I didn't try."

They weren't fooling anyone, and they knew it. They were both worried. Worried about each other. Worried about their father. And worried about Candy. They were just trying to distract themselves from the reality of their situation, which was that they could do nothing except wait. Time was ticking away, and there was nothing for them to do but sit and reminisce.

"That was a good Christmas," Hoss sighed.

"Yeah," Joe agreed.

* * *

It didn't come as a surprise to Candy that the deputies that had been chasing him had gotten to Dewton before he had, and warned the sheriff to be on the lookout for him. He was just glad to know they'd ridden back out of town and had somehow missed him. He didn't care how that had happened, but he was grateful that it had, because it gave him the opportunity to try and convince the sheriff that he wasn't the ruthless criminal he'd been made out to be.

Sheriff Hank Walker was a surprisingly young fellow, tall, fair haired and clear eyed, and probably ten years Candy's junior from the look of him, but he was hard-nosed as a veteran. Probably had to be in order to cope with people who only offered respect to their elders.

But whatever outward attitude he showed, Sheriff Walker wasn't all bad. Candy was used to sizing people up pretty fast. When he'd walked in, Sheriff Walker had recognized him from his description immediately, arrested him and put him in a jail cell. But Candy noted the man was a lot less rough on him than he might've been, paying special consideration to the fact that his prisoner was injured. After locking Candy up, Sheriff Walker had gone off and returned with a doctor.

After getting Candy's word that he wouldn't try anything while the doctor treated him, Sheriff Walker had stood outside the cell and let the doc have at his prisoner. Walker kept his gun holstered and didn't cuff Candy or restrain him in any fashion save that of the cell itself. Candy of course kept his word. His objective wasn't to escape anyway, otherwise he wouldn't have waltzed into the sheriff's office.

He hoped to buy a little trust by his passive cooperation, but Sheriff Walker seemed to be set dead against him.

"So what you're telling me," Sheriff Walker said slowly, "Is that the sheriff of Elodie is holding these two Cartwrights unlawfully, and his deputies are trying to kill you so you can't tell anyone about it?"

"That's about the size of it," Candy confirmed, "Though they were going to kill me before I ran."

It was good to be indoors after the long hours spent out in the cold, and it was even better to lie on a cot, propping himself up with the wall behind it, instead of having to hold himself up on a saddle. He was bone weary and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but he knew that he first had to get this sheriff to understand, or at the very least entertain the notion enough to send a telegram to Ben Cartwright in Virginia City.

"And why would he want to do something like that?" Walker inquired.

"I don't know," Candy answered, "But I can think of reasons. Wouldn't be the first time somebody got arrested for something they didn't do."

"Why keep them and kill you?" Walker asked.

"If I knew, I would tell you," Candy said, somewhat irritably, then he paused for a moment, "Hang on... the sheriff said something right before I bolted... something like 'Cartwright wouldn't pay a nickel for him'. Something like that anyway."

"Money?" Walker's tone was incredulous, as was the expression on his face, "You think a sheriff, a lawman, would be breakin' the law and holding two men hostage for money? Sheriff's wages aren't much, but if money was our main preoccupation, no sheriff would ever take the job."

"Oh come on," Candy snapped finally, "If you're as smart as you think you are, you know any man with any job can be crooked, and even a lawman can be corrupted if he's pushed hard enough. I don't know if you've seen Elodie, but if you haven't let me enlighten you: it's a dump. Everything's cheap, run down and needs to be replaced, including the sheriff."

"And why should I believe you over two lawfully appointed deputies?" Walker asked.

"What kind of idiot walks into a sheriff's office when he knows the law is after him and then concocts a ridiculous story like the one I just told you? Who would believe him?" Candy retorted angrily, then quieted himself down and continued, "Look, I'm not tellin' you to let me go, just send a message to Mr. Cartwright. He needs to know his boys are in trouble. That's all I'm asking."

"Telegrams are mighty expensive," Walker pointed out.

Candy opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sigh.

"I haven't got any money on me, and that horse and saddle aren't mine to give," he shook his head wearily, "Only thing I've got that's worth anything is that gun belt, and it isn't worth that much."

"So what you're telling me is to spend a heap of money sending a note to a man I don't know, with a message I don't believe," Sheriff Walker summarized.

Candy wanted to argue, but that was the truth of it, and he saw there was no reason to contradict the sheriff or continue trying to get him to believe when it was clear he wasn't about to.

Instead, he sighed again and said, "Apparently."

"Well pardon me if I tell you that's crazy," Sheriff Walker said.

Candy nodded and said, more to himself than Walker, "That's what I was afraid of."


	10. Different from the Rest

Somehow, Joe wasn't sure how, Hoss had eventually gone to sleep with his back against one wall of the cell and his head leaned against the other. Joe had his back against the wall and was huddled up next to Hoss. Usually Hoss' snoring was a source of mild irritation to him, but now it was something of a comfort. He felt somehow safe leaning against his big brother's shoulder and listening to his familiar snore. Regardless of the surrounding circumstances, it felt peaceful and right to be sitting next to Hoss.

Cold sunrise crept stealthily through the window, casting weak rays of light into the shadowy cell and Joe watched them catch on the bars of the cell and throw weird stripes of darkness across the floor.

There was a cot in the cell, but it was bolted to the wall opposite where Joe and Hoss were and the draft blew right on it. Besides which, the cot wasn't big enough for Joe, let alone Hoss. So they'd confiscated the blanket from it and taken to sitting in the corner which was out of the wind's reach.

Long after the sheriff's office had grown dark and quiet, Hoss and Joe had reminisced about Christmases, recollecting their stories in no particular order, and sometimes revisiting ones they'd already talked about. But one Christmas they had not discussed was the first one after Adam left the ranch. It had been different than when he was away at college and couldn't make it home in time for Christmas. It was different because Adam had left the ranch that time possibly for good.

Unlike Joe and Hoss, Adam had never been content being a rancher. The wide open spaces, the smell of pine, the sound of cattle lowing and the feel of a good horse under him hadn't been enough for their older brother. He'd wanted more, and the only thing that had held him on the Ponderosa for so many years was his devotion to his family. He'd wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, that his brothers could look out for themselves and their pa without him. But once he had that assurance, he'd gone to sea and had not been back since, nor was there any indication he intended to ever return.

That first Christmas without him home had been the hardest.

Pa had tried to be upbeat; though he never denied missing his oldest boy, he didn't say much about him. Hoss and Joe had coped then the way they were doing now, talking about Christmases past with their brother, and secretly wondering how they would ever be able to have one without him. It wasn't that they hadn't coped with loss before, of course they had. But with Adam it was different. Adam wasn't dead, he was simply absent. They hadn't been willing to admit it because they'd all told him and each other that they understood and weren't mad at him for wanting something beyond the Ponderosa, something his family couldn't offer him, but they each privately felt abandoned.

Adam had been very busy in building his life away from home, and the first letter he managed to write hadn't reached them until almost Christmas. He'd explained that he'd been busy, and talked about his new life, and he'd asked after the family and ranch business and particularly a yearling colt he'd been in the process of training but left in Joe's capable hands when he left. And he'd admitted he missed them.

Even though he was the one who'd moved away from them, Adam was the only one of them that was able to admit to himself and others that he missed his family. Somehow, that confession on his part made everything okay again. Suddenly, it was okay for them to feel sad, and to miss him and wish he was home with them for Christmas. That acknowledged realization that they missed Adam and that the family and holiday both felt incomplete without him made it okay somehow. Accepting the reality that they weren't totally happy allowed them to share in the joy of Christmas where before they'd merely been going through the motions and not really feeling it.

Even though that Christmas had been a little sad and a little dismal in a way, thinking back on it now, Joe realized that it had actually been a good one, even if it hadn't seem that way at the time.

He wondered if this Christmas would be that way too. Right now, he couldn't see how.

* * *

Hank Walker had become sheriff in Dewton because nobody else would take the job. Actually he'd started out being deputy to his uncle, but when the older man was killed in a shoot out with would-be bank robbers, Hank was the only one willing to make any attempt to fill his uncle's shoes. Everyone wanted a safe town protected by lawmen, but none of them wanted to become lawmen themselves, especially not after the former sheriff's violent death.

Hank had been just a kid when he'd taken over, meaning he had more years of experience than his youth would suggest. But, though the town had elected him, they didn't naturally want to respect him. He'd been the sheriff's kid nephew. As a deputy he'd carried the weight of his uncle's orders behind him. As sheriff, he'd had to impose his authority on his own, and sometimes that meant using force where a word should've done the trick. Now the townsfolk were used to him, but strangers tended to give him trouble whenever they came through.

He hadn't much cared for those deputies from Elodie. Those two had talked down to him, almost sneering when he said he'd keep an eye out for their escaped prisoner and see to it said prisoner got returned to them if he was spotted anywhere in town.

Canaday, the name given for the escaped prisoner, had not been what Hank expected. He'd dealt with enough crooks to have some skill at sizing a man up right away. Canaday had treated him with the respect his office was due, but there was a look in his eyes that said a man had to earn anything more than that. But he didn't seem to be put off by Hank's youth, despite that ridiculous yarn he'd spun.

It made Hank wonder, especially as Canaday had asked nothing for himself. He'd asked for a telegraph to be sent to Ben Cartwright, but not to save himself. He'd seemed concerned only with Cartwright's sons. That didn't seem much like the kind of criminal the deputies had described.

What kind of criminal bolted from one sheriff and then literally deposited himself in the office of another? It seemed to Hank that the only explanation was that there really had to be something going on in Elodie. He didn't much care for the idea of sending a message to a man he didn't know, seeing as it might be some kind of secret code they'd devised so one could let the other know he was in trouble. Hank didn't know, but he did know that one way to find out was to send a message to the sheriff of Virginia City, asking about Canaday and Cartwright. The latter name sounded familiar, but Hank didn't have much time to spend on affairs outside his own town. For all he knew, the Cartwrights might ride through Dewton regularly and simply never cause any trouble. He didn't tend to know the people who passed through without raising a ruckus by name, merely by sight.

He also recognized that horse Canaday had ridden in on as being the Jeff Kailen Mare. Ol' Jeff was dead and gone, and the mare now belonged to his partner, Clint Tanner, but everybody still called the red dun the Jeff Kailen Mare. Hank supposed she had a name, but nobody knew it or cared about it. What they knew was that Jeff Kailen had loved that mare more than almost anything, and would never sell her. Canaday had admitted the horse wasn't his, but claimed Clint Tanner had let him borrow her. Hank had his doubts about that, but he knew one easy way of finding out.

It was a long ride out to the Kailen-Tanner ranch, and Hank wasn't inclined to go himself, but there were a few men in town willing to be deputized at a moment's notice, and he could use one of them to run out to the place and ask after the mare. If Tanner really had lent the mare to Canaday... well it didn't make him innocent, but at least Hank could take the potential charge of horse thieving off the list of crimes Canaday might have committed since his escape. Aside from which, those Elodie deputies had said he was a pretty desperate character, and Hank wanted to be sure Tanner and Laura Kailen were alright since he'd come in on one of their horses.

Hank probably would have investigated anyway, but Canaday had actually done more to convince him overnight than when he'd first been arrested. Sometime in the night, fever had set in. Hank had gotten the doctor out of bed to deal with it, but Canaday had done a fair bit of talking without waking up. Feverish and unaware of what he was saying, Canaday had nonetheless stuck to his story.

At the first sign of daylight, Hank set out to rustle himself up a deputy, or maybe two. Hank didn't anticipate any trouble with his prisoner, who -according to the doctor- wasn't likely to have enough strength to get out of bed on his own for a few days at least (assuming he survived the fever), but Hank had made it his habit to always have someone around to keep an eye on things whenever the jail cells were occupied by anything more than Ol' Toby, the town drunk.

No less than twice a week, Ol' Toby got himself so loaded that he fancied himself a wild animal trainer and took to assaulting saloon patrons with chairs. He had to be locked away until he'd gotten sober when that happened. The saloon owner and his employees had learned to recognize when Toby was about to go off, and sent for Hank or a deputy before that happened, or else had somebody haul him off to the sheriff's office. They saved themselves from a lot of damage that way, and Ol' Toby was saved the expense of paying for it.

In the saloon, Hank found his deputies. Jake and Steve Williams, a couple of brothers, had clearly partied way too hard last night. Hank had known they would have. They always got spirited in more way than one around the holidays, because their pa gave them money to spend and dismissed them from their jobs as wranglers and general hands on his ranch. They spent the last couple weeks of December drinking each other under the table. They were never any trouble though.

Going around behind the bar, Hank found the black coffee pot which was kept there for emergency sobering up purposes, along with a bucket full of water. He filled two mugs of coffee and put them on the bar, then picked up the bucket and hauled it over to where the brothers were napping. He heaved and the water splashed across both of them, and they woke up spluttering.

"Time to go to work, fellas," Hank said, setting down the bucket and sauntering over to retrieve the coffee mugs, "I got work for you to do."

Jake and Steve were older than Hank, plenty old enough to have families and ranches of their own had they not been consummate bachelors who preferred to leave the paper and deal making work to their pa. They worked horses and cattle with the best of them, but couldn't -or wouldn't- read to save their lives, and they were easy marks for almost any conman. The tall, dark-haired boys had also given Hank a standing offer to volunteer as deputies at the slightest notice when he'd first become sheriff; an offer he'd taken them up on more than once, particularly in his first year as sheriff when nobody wanted to take him seriously. Jake and Steve had backed him when he needed it most, stood by him in times when nobody else would. So, drunk as they might be at this time of the year, they were his first picks.

"Aw, Hank, what kinda work could you have for us at Christmastime? Everybody's gettin' ready for Christmas parties, they're too busy to cause any trouble," Jake said.

"How come you always hit me with most of the bucket?" Steve complained.

Hank set down the mugs in front of the boys and they hunched over the steaming beverages while Hank took a seat. He explained to them that he had a prisoner whose guilt he questioned, and told them he needed one of them to check on the Kailen-Tanner place, and the other to babysit.

"You think somebody will try to break him out?" Steve asked.

"From what those Elodie detectives said, anything's possible," Hank said.

"Don't you believe them?" Jake inquired.

"Not so much as you'd notice," Hank replied, "But I'm not about to turn Canaday loose until I've gotten everything straightened out. Fact is, I'm more worried about him kickin' off while I'm not lookin'. Doc's with him now, but he's got to go out and tend to some pregnant lady outside town who's apt to give birth any time now."

"Canaday's injured?" Steve asked, "How?"

"Shot," Hank replied shortly, then added, "In the back, no less."

"Suspicious," Steve remarked.

"Mighty suspicious," Jake agreed.

Seeing the coffee was perking them right up, Hank pulled out two deputy badges and tossed them onto the table, "Consider yourselves swore in. Now which of you wants which job?"

Steve and Jake exchanged glances. Clearly neither of them wanted to ride, but didn't say so.

"Coin toss?" Steve asked.

"Coin toss," Jake confirmed.

"Loser rides out?"

Jake nodded, pulling a coin out of his pocket and saying, "Call it."

"Heads," Steve said, while the coin flipped in the air.

Hank caught it before Jake could and slammed it onto the table. The three looked at it.

"Damn," Steve muttered.

"Better luck next time," Jake told him.

Steve slugged down the last of his coffee in a single gulp and left without any other complaint.

"Get on over to the office," Hank told Jake, "I'll meet you there after I talk to Artly,"

Lue Artly ran the Dewton telegraph office. He was also the owner of one of only two hotels in town. Artly lived at his place of work. The building was on a street corner. On one side, it was marked as a telegraph office. Around the corner it was marked as a hotel. If you went in through the telegraph office, there was a room off to the side, which was where Artly slept at night. He took his meals from the hotel kitchen, and seldom left the building if he could avoid it.

It also so happened that Artly was just a little bit deaf. Hank didn't bother knocking on the door of the telegraph office. He went around to the hotel side -which was never locked- and then went through the door in the lobby that led to the telegraph office. He went to the open doorway of Artly's bedroom and banged on the wall until Artly woke up.

"Mornin', Artly," Hank said loudly, "I need to send a telegram to the sheriff in Virginia City."

Artly got up, fumbled around for his glasses and peered through them at Hank.

"You know, you're the second lawman in as many days that wanted to contact Virginia City."

"Really?" Hank asked, "Who was the first?"

"One of them deputies from Elodie. Don't know why. They've got a telegraph office in Elodie, works just as good as mine does. Awful long day's ride for no good reason, if you ask me."

"You read this message they sent?" Hank inquired.

"'course I did," Artly replied, "Gotta count the words, don't I?"

"Of course you do," Hank said, "Now, Art, you remember what that message was about?"

"Boy, do I ever. Strangest message I ever sent," Artly said, "If it hadn't been a deputy that sent it, I'd say it looked like a ransom note. Must be some kinda secret code they're usin' or somethin'."

"What did the message say?" Hank asked.

"Oh come now, Sheriff Walker," Artly protested, "If I told you, that'd be betraying a customer, and-"

Without a word, Hank banged the money he'd intended to use to pay for the telegram on Artly's desk.

"-I'll write you up a copy of it," Artly said, not skipping a beat.


	11. Happy Christmas Hangover

During the ride to Dewton, Ben had little to do besides reflect on times gone by. He hadn't set out immediately, first he'd gone back to the ranch and made arrangements for his absence. Roy had objected to Ben's going alone, but there wasn't really a way around it. It was Christmastime, and people were consequently busy. Aside from which, Ben didn't believe himself to be in any danger just now. Hurting or killing him wouldn't get the hostage takers their money, and they probably knew it. They had all the leverage they needed, if indeed they had Hoss and Joe.

So Ben loaded up his saddlebags, tied them onto his horse and set out alone.

At first, he tried to imagine what had happened to his boys, and who might have them. But it was fruitless to theorize, and eventually he fell into reflection as a means of passing the time.

While Buck followed the road truly, Ben remembered the first time his boys had gone on a long cattle drive without him. He hadn't wanted to let them go, but Adam had reasoned him into it, pointing out that they were all grown, and asking him what trouble they could get into that all three of them couldn't handle together. Adding weight to Adam's argument had been a recent incident involving a horse that had resulted in Ben's being injured. Though he was recovering at the time, the fact was that he would either have to delay the drive to go along, or he would wind up slowing it down.

Finally, Ben had caved and given the responsibility for the drive over to his oldest. The boys set out in a great state of excitement over their independence, and Ben found himself wondering if he'd made the right decision. In later years, he kept at least one of his younger boys home instead of letting all three go together. One reason was that it kept his worrying to a manageable level. The formally acknowledged reason was that both his brothers together were too much for Adam to handle.

Joe was a schemer and always looking for trouble. He was hot tempered and reckless, and could get hung up on anything in a skirt. But Hoss provided support for Joe's plans, and at times he was the one who found the trouble just because he was so trusting and easily taken in by conmen. Adam couldn't ride herd on a bunch of cattle and drovers and also make sure both his brothers stayed out of trouble in towns along the way. The only reason it worked with the four of them together was Ben's unquestioned authority, and the fact that he could send Adam to wrangle one of them while he kept an eye on the other. But with Joe and Hoss, without his pa along, Adam was hopelessly outnumbered, and his brothers often began to buck his authority. After all, he was only their big brother. Joe especially chafed under his brother's firm hand. Joe hated to be controlled, and the surest way to make him do something was to tell him that he couldn't, especially if you happened to be one of his overprotective brothers.

Ben never did get the full story of that cattle drive, but he knew the cattle were delivered late, and that the boys got lost on the way back somehow. Joe managed to get himself hurt, forcing them to stop in a town and wait for him to recover. Adam had never said as much, and Joe would not admit it, but Ben suspected that Joe had gotten into some kind of a fight and wound up with more than he could handle. Some of the drovers had refused to ever go on a drive involving Joe again, which led to years of complications in planning such drives. Some of them were more reasonable, they said they'd go if Ben was there to keep his youngest in check. None of them ever said what their problem was.

Adam had been wise enough to send a message after Joe was hurt, letting Ben know they would be late getting home. Ben had wanted to go right out and see how badly Joe was hurt, suspecting that Adam would downplay anything that had gone wrong. If Adam was sending a telegram, things must have gone disastrously wrong. But Ben had managed to talk himself out of going. Adam had sent him that message precisely so he wouldn't worry. If the boys needed help, they could ask for it. He daily reminded himself that there was nothing the three of them couldn't handle together.

While Joe had been recovering, Hoss had fallen head over heels for a beautiful girl, and had wanted to stay even after Joe and Adam were ready to move on. It had taken time to get him pried loose.

On the way back, they had somehow become entangled in the affairs of a small town when one of them was mistaken for a bank robber and arrested, then subsequently released and they had spent about a week as deputies. After that, there had been a widow woman with a little girl, and they'd stopped to get her farm equipment back in working order and helped her find someone to work for her so she could manage the place. After that, they'd met up with a shady type on the trail who'd told some outlandish stories that Hoss believed, gaining the most trusting and gentle brother's confidence and then he'd tried to steal the money they'd gotten from the drive in the middle of the night and make off with it, but Joe's suspicious nature had stood him in good stead and the man was caught and turned over to the next sheriff the boys could find.

In all, it had been almost Christmas before the three eventually came traipsing back home. Joe and Hoss had been in good spirits, elated by their adventure and not really realizing how much trouble they'd caused along the way or how much worry their father had suffered. Adam had handed Ben the saddlebag with the money and stumbled upstairs to his bed, which he refused to leave for the next week unless he was promised nothing more troublesome than eating breakfast at the table.

It took a lot of coaxing, but he was convinced to get dressed and come down for the Christmas Eve party. Adam had played the polite host, and danced with pretty girls and might even have accidentally started enjoying himself. Even so, he retired early. He later swore that he would never ask his pa to let him and his brothers go on a cattle drive alone again. It was even some time before he could be convinced to go on a drive even with only one of his brothers at a time, or to stay home with one while Ben himself went on the drive with the other. His brothers had really worn him out.

That had been a good Christmas, Ben reflected.

Even though it was a few years later and the boys had become wiser and more mature in the intervening time, Ben had still been terrified the first time he sent Hoss and Joe out without him or Adam along. He'd been quite sure it was a disaster in the making, but they'd managed just fine. They'd run into a little bit of trouble through no fault of their own, but had resolved it and made it back in one piece. Ben and Adam had both been surprised, though neither of them would admit it aloud.

Unfortunately, that memory led him back to the present, and he found himself again wondering how much trouble the boys were in. He wished he could tell if the twisting in his gut was a real warning or just fear. When it came to his boys, he'd never been able to separate legitimate concerns from being an overbearing worrywart. Obviously the boys were in trouble, but some hostage takers were cruel, others almost kind. He couldn't tell from the note just how dangerous this person (or people) really were. It didn't do any good to guess because he was doing so without any real information.

* * *

Steve had a headache, his vision was a bit blurry, and his balance was off. The sunlight reflecting off the snow was too damn bright, his horse bounced too much when as he trotted along, and there were fresh wolf tracks in the snow that had him a little concerned. For all that, he was happy enough. He'd won the drinking contest with Jake last night, or at least he thought he had, which meant Jake had to do his chores next week, leaving Steve free to goof off. That is, if this deputy gig didn't last too long.

One could never be sure when Hank roped them into deputy work whether it would be for a few hours or a few days or a month. This wasn't the first time Hank had woken the Williams brothers up with a cold bucket of water and a cup of incredibly strong black coffee and set them to doing tasks without really filling them all the way in because there wasn't time. Steve didn't expect to have the full story until after he got back from Kailen-Tanner place.

Like as not, Hank had some notion cooking in his head. If this Canaday fella was on the level, Hank would be rounding up deputies from all around town and heading up what amounted to a posse going out to Elodie. One thing Hank couldn't abide were crooked lawmen, and he'd seen his share over the years, despite the fact that he would act baffled and even offended by such notions whenever anyone brought it up. Hank believed firmly that people should be able to trust their lawmen, and his way of making sure they could was a combination of being ferocious in taking down the crooked ones and equally stolid in telling people that lawmen were meant to follow the law, not break it. He was a funny kid, but smart and tough, and Steve respected him.

The ride out to the Kailen-Tanner ranch wasn't too terribly long in good weather, but it took longer when snow became involved. The trail there was pretty well broken up, a lot of people had been riding it since the snow fell, but Steve was disinclined to push his horse for a couple of reasons.

One, he had to ride the horse back and he didn't want the animal overworked or to sweat and then get cold. Two, his head was spinning far too quickly for him to manage more than a trot on the way out. For a somewhat weak-reasoned third, Hank hadn't asked Steve for speed, which probably meant there wasn't any reason to rush. And Steve never rushed if he didn't have to when he had a hangover.

When he finally did reach the ranch, Steve thought for a moment that there really was trouble out at the Kailen-Tanner place what with the way Clint Tanner came running out yelling. It startled both Steve and his horse, and it was a few seconds before he could determine what the excited man was saying.

"She said yes! Stevie, she said yes!" Clint was shouting as he grabbed onto the reins of Steve's horse.

Steve was slow on the uptake, "Yes to what?"

"ME!" Clint, normally a fairly sedate and calm gentleman, seemed to have gone completely off his head, "Miss Laura said YES to _ME_!"

Slow comprehension dawned as Steve realized what question Clint must've asked that Laura could have said yes to. It was well known to everyone except for Laura and her late husband that Clint had been pining for her since before she was ever married. Not that Clint had ever said anything, but he was easy enough to read and unless you were blind and deaf, you couldn't mention the pure adoration in his eyes and voice whenever he mentioned Laura by name.

Even though it had been a respectable time since the death of Jeff Kailen, nobody had placed any bets on Clint ever managing to ask Laura to marry him, and everyone knew she was too much of a lady -a proud, stubborn and mischievous one at that- to ever ask him.

"That's fine, Clint," Steve said, managing not to wince as Clint's loud exclamations of joy battered against his hungover senses, "I guess that means everything's alright up here."

"Of course it is!" Clint exclaimed, completely oblivious to Steve's discomfort, "Why shouldn't it be?"

"You ain't missin' any horses, are ya?" Steve inquired.

"Don't think so," Clint said, "They were all there this morning, except the red dun mare, of course."

"And where's the Jeff Kailen Mare?" Steve asked, even though he knew precisely where the mare was.

Hank had taught him and Jake to ask questions that didn't let on how much they knew, and didn't lead potential witnesses into testifying falsely, either by accident or to protect somebody.

"I let a cowboy borrow her," Clint replied distractedly, clearly uninterested in the mare, "I directed him to Dewton. He had a message to send to somebody," suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked directly at Steve for the first time, "Why? Something go wrong? Is the mare hurt?"

"Nah, she ain't hurt," Steve said, "Leastways, not that Sheriff Walker said. But that is what I rode up here to talk to you about. See, your cowboy made it to Dewton. Did you know he's wanted by the law in Elodie?"

"No," Clint said, but averted his eyes suddenly, "I didn't know."

"Really?" Steve replied coolly, "Then who was it that broke up the trail leading up here? Surely one man on a horse couldn't churn that much snow in one trip."

"Oh, a couple of deputies were up here, lookin' for somebody," Clint said, still avoiding looking Steve in the eye, "But that cowboy was alright, he just needed a fresh horse to get him to Dewton. He was in a powerful hurry to get a message off, said he was sendin' it to the father of two boys that were in trouble."

"Uh-huh," Steve nodded sagely, "An' you didn't think maybe this stranger could be the one the deputies was after? C'mon, Clint, you're smarter'n that."

"Maybe he was," Clint admitted, "But Miss Laura said he wasn't any criminal. She sorta talked me into letting him go, and letting him borrow the mare."

"That woman could convince flowers to bloom in the winter," Steve said, "Anyhow, thanks for the information. I'd best be gettin' back; Sheriff Walker's stirred up 'bout all this somethin' awful. You know how he gets at the very suggestion of crooked lawmen."

"Sure do," Clint said, "Look, I'd volunteer to help out if you need extra deputies, but... well, Miss Laura is near her time, and I wouldn't feel right leaving her here."

"Of course not," Steve said, "You want I should send the doc out your way when I get back? I hear he's out to help some other lady with the same condition, but he could head out your way once that's done. He could probably even bring the Jeff Kailen Mare back with him when he comes."

"I'd appreciate that, Steve," Clint told him, "Just don't ever let on to Miss Laura that I said so."

"Sure thing, Clint," Steve said, and reined his horse around, turning back the way he'd come, "See ya around. Oh, and congratulations!"

"Merry Christmas!" Clint shouted at the receding backside of Steve's horse.

Steve returned the sentiment, but didn't know if he'd been heard.

Now he'd gotten the information he'd come for, Steve felt like he ought to be getting back to town. Besides, he hadn't had breakfast before he rode out, and he was getting hungry. Besides which, the hangover was beginning to wear off. His horse wasn't keen on the idea of hurrying though, and the ride back turned out to be just as time consuming as the ride out had been as a result.


	12. If He Really Cares

Deputy Mayer's first name was Jesse, but nobody called him that because it had been his father's name. When he'd been a kid, people had called him Junior. As he got older and taller, it had eventually been shortened to June. His mother called him Juney, as had his brother when he was alive, but nobody else did. To everyone, he was either June or Deputy Mayer. Except for Sheriff Holt, who omitted the deputy part and just called him Mayer.

"'bout time you got in, Mayer," Sheriff Holt greeted him.

"'mornin', Sheriff," Mayer returned, taking off his hat and laying it on the desk all the deputies shared when they were employed, but which only Mayer occupied permanently, "Everything okay?"

"Hardly," Sheriff Holt said, "Them two have been jawin' most of the night. Never had two prisoners that were more chatty."

"Well," Mayer ventured, "They are brothers after all."

"What have brothers got to say to each other?" the sheriff grunted.

"Do you have a brother?" Mayer asked.

"Nope," Holt answered, "My folks had a bunch o' girls. Then they had me. An' then they had more girls. It's a wonder I wasn't born wearin' a dress."

Mayer nodded without comment. That explained a few things about Sheriff Holt's social habits. The man seemed to be comfortable in talking to women, but he never turned on any kind of charm, and seemed completely oblivious to any woman that happened to flirt with him. He treated Lacy Jane Weston like she was his sister, and Mayer supposed he now knew why. No wonder the man had never courted and married, he probably liked having a house that wasn't loaded up with womenfolk.

Poor Miss Weston, she'd probably never rope Sheriff Holt.

"So what were they talking about?" Mayer inquired, nodding towards the jail room.

"Don't know. Couldn't tell from here, and didn't feel like askin'," Sheriff Holt replied, "Now you're here, you can find out for yourself if you're so eager. Me, I'm goin' home to get some shuteye."

"You going to Lacy's first?" Mayer inquired, "In case somebody asks after you."

Sheriff Holt frowned out the window of his office, checking the time based on the light conditions outside, then he said, "I suppose she'd be up now. But it's a might early for brandy."

"I'm sure she makes coffee," Mayer told him.

"Sure, but who could drink it?"

Lacy's was the only place in town to eat, but it was well known that the only thing she had any business fixing was drinks. Nobody had the heart to tell her, she was such a sweet, thoughtful lady, and always brought food to the men at the sheriff's office when anything was going on that made them stay longer than usual hours. She'd be by later to bring food to them and their prisoners, so no deputy would have to be sent out for it. Of course, the only place to go was Lacy's. However, some of the deputies had wised up and started carrying jerky with them and eating that after Miss Weston had been and gone. They had several clever disposal methods, so she'd never find out they couldn't stand her cooking.

Mayer's politeness forbade him from rejecting her food. He also couldn't lie to her and pretend he'd eaten it when he hadn't. So he just ate it and suffered. His mother told him that he ought to let Miss Weston know, so she could try to do better. But Mayer couldn't imagine that anything in the world would fix what was wrong with Miss Weston's food, and it wasn't fair to ask the impossible of her.

"So you're going to Lacy's first," Mayer concluded.

"Probably. May stay in one of the rooms if Lacy'll let me. Easier than goin' all the way home."

Mayer didn't say so, but he knew Miss Weston would let Sheriff Holt stay. Heck, if the rooms were full (which they never were), she would probably kick out the occupants to make room for him. Either that or she would suggest he come and sleep on the couch in her living room.

Like many people in town, Miss Weston actually lived in her place of business. She had an apartment at the back of the building that she used. She also had a large dog and a shotgun she kept back there in case drifters got any big ideas, especially after they'd had a few too many of her drinks. Mayer had always suspected the dog was actually a wolf, and it came and went as it pleased through a back door, though it always seemed to be in whistling distance whenever any potential ruffians showed up. Mayer and Sheriff Holt had arrested more than one man that had to be treated for dog bites.

It occurred to Mayer after Sheriff Holt departed that the dog had been nowhere around when the Cartwright boys and Canaday had been at Lacy's. He knew, of course, that there was no legitimate reason for the boys to have been arrested, but the absence of the dog said something to him about their character. The dog always knew if a man might cause any fuss, and somehow knew whenever anyone rode into town. Heck, that dog could tell if one of the locals was about to celebrate a little too much and would make its presence felt before things got out of hand. But the dog had not been at all in evidence since before the Cartwrights and Canaday had ridden into town.

More than once, Miss Weston had come and asked Mayer to remove someone from her hotel/saloon, and he'd learned to trust the absence of the dog to mean that they would cause no trouble, no matter how shady or dangerous they happened to look. Of course, the Cartwright boys were in jail now, and couldn't have done Miss Weston any harm from there if they'd wanted to, but the dog didn't trust jail cells to hold hoodlums, and would hang around until any potential danger had passed.

That dog should have been following Miss Weston every time she came in yesterday. If the Cartwrights hadn't wished her harm before, surely they must now, and -Mayer had to admit- with good reason.

He decided to take a chance and went into the jail room, where he found both Cartwrights awake.

"Breakfast's going to be a little late," Mayer informed them.

"If it's anything like it was yesterday, we're in no hurry," said the younger of the two, Joe.

"Knowing Miss Weston, it's exactly like it was yesterday," Mayer told him.

"I was afraid of that," Joe said.

The two brothers were sitting on the floor in the least drafty corner of the cell. Mayer had been trying to get Sheriff Holt to get that draft fixed, but the sheriff was adamant that it was more than he could afford. Mayer had offered to do the repairs himself for free, but the sheriff had told him in no uncertain terms that -if he ever got the urge to fix something- he should go home and see what his mother needed done around the place. Sheriff Holt was right, of course, Mayer had plenty to do to try and keep his mother's place in good working order. It had been set up with the idea of there being a healthy woman and three strong men to help run it, not just one man and his ailing mother.

Instead of standing over them, Mayer took a seat on the floor outside the cell and leaned against the wall that divided the main office from the jail room.

"I'll ask Miss Weston if she can bring over an extra blanket," Mayer said, trying to ease his guilt somewhat, "Tomorrow night's gonna be colder than last night."

"What do you care?" Joe asked sourly, "You're planning to kill us when this is over anyway, or had you forgotten that?"

"I haven't forgotten," Mayer said, "But I don't see any reason to make man or animal more miserable than necessary before they die. Mother says it's not in my blood to be cruel."

"Your ma know what you're doin' now?" asked the older brother, Hoss.

"Mother doesn't live in town," Mayer said, "She doesn't know anything about you."

"I bet she'd be real proud of you," Joe spat sarcastically, "Holding innocent people in a jail cell, making yourself into a kidnapper and murderer, and a thief while you're at it."

"I'm not doing this to make her proud," Mayer said, "I'm doing it to give her a better life."

"With blood money," Joe pointed out, "I dunno about your mother, but if mine were alive, she'd be angry and ashamed of me if I made money from hurting other people."

"And so would mine," Hoss said, "She'd tan my hide if she ever found out."

"I thought you were brothers?" Mayer asked.

"We are," Joe said neutrally, and neither brother seemed inclined to elaborate.

Mayer didn't really need them to. He supposed different mothers would account for the wildly different appearances and dispositions of the two. Mayer and his older brother could've passed for twins. These two would probably need extensive proof if they wanted to pass as distant relations. Frankly the younger one looked more like Canaday than he looked like his brother. Which led Mayer to wonder.

"You claimed Canaday was just a ranch hand. He's not some cousin of yours or anything, is he?"

"Why? You want to hold him hostage too?" Joe asked.

"We both know he's dead either way," Mayer said.

Joe sighed irritably, but it was Hoss that answered.

"He's no blood relation," Hoss said, "Fact is, he's only worked for us a couple of years."

"And yet the both of you were ready to give your lives for his when you helped him escape," Mayer remarked, "He must be some kind of ranch hand."

"I reckon he is at that," Hoss agreed after a moment's consideration, "But that ain't why we did it."

"I suppose you were hoping he'd go for help," Mayer said.

"There's no question about whether he'd go for help," Joe growled, "Of course he would. But the reason we did what we did was because we couldn't just stand by and watch a murder. Not when we could do something about it."

"Joe's right," Hoss admitted when Mayer looked at him questioningly, "I reckon we just couldn't help ourselves. We just sorta naturally want to right any wrongs we see goin' on."

"It seems a little ironic," Joe said, "that you're wearing the badge and we're in jail."

"And does Canaday also have this... this compulsion to do the right thing?" Mayer asked.

"I can't say what's in another man's heart," Hoss told him, "And Candy's jus' full o' surprises. But based on what he's done since we met him, I'd say he does."

"It's a little late to start worrying about what kind of man your friends are hunting down, isn't it?" Joe inquired sharply, and Mayer couldn't blame him for the anger that burned like fire in his dark eyes, "You sure didn't seem to care when your sheriff shot him in the back."

"He was trying to get away," Mayer said weakly.

"After your sheriff gave the order to have him killed. Any man would run, given that kind of a death sentence. Or weren't you listening at the time?" Joe challenged, but Mayer didn't answer him.

The fact was, he had been listening. He'd been listening when this plan was first proposed, and when Canaday was brought in by two of the others, and when Sheriff Holt had ordered him killed. He'd been listening when Sheriff Holt told Miss Weston that the Cartwright boys were doomed. He'd been listening, and he'd understood. But he'd been trying not to think about it. He'd avoided going in the jail room, avoided looking the prisoners in the eyes. But now he was in here and talking to them, it was hard not to think about what he was doing to them. Especially since the younger one seemed to have a barbed remark to make on just about anything.

"What you're planning is wrong, and you know it," Joe pressed him, "And if you go through with it, you know there's no coming back from that. You'll be a murderer, and your mother will be living off money belonging to the father of the men you killed. I could live with a lot of things, a lotta kinds of guilt. But if I did that... I don't think I could live with it. Can you?"

Before Mayer could think about answering, a loud neigh issued from Josh Jones' Livery, followed by the sound of a hoof banging against wood, and another neigh from the same horse.

"You want to do something for us?" Joe asked, but didn't wait for a response, "Get over to that stable and tend to those horses. They're hungry, and probably thirsty, and they need exercise."

"You're worried about horses right now?" Mayer couldn't believe what he'd heard.

"I trained the pinto myself, I've had him since I was a kid. He's been just about everywhere with me, a lot of tough situations. He's worth more than money, he means the world to me. It's my responsibility to take care of him, and I've had to listen to him carrying on like that since yesterday. Maybe I've got to die for your plan to work, but there's no reason my horse has to suffer too."

Mayer stared at Joe, who gazed back earnestly. Finally, he decided Joe really meant it. Slowly, Mayer got to his feet, and brushed imaginary dust off his pants.

"I'll see what I can do," Mayer promised.

When he left, Hoss turned to his brother and said, "What are you tryin' to do, Joe?"

Every word Joe had said was true, and Hoss knew it. But Joe didn't usually confess his affection for his horse to just anybody, least of all to somebody planning to kill him. Hoss knew it was possible for Joe to say just about anything when he was mouthing off, but he'd caught a gleam in Joe's eye about halfway through the conversation with the deputy. He'd seen that look before. Joe was scheming. He had a plan, an intent behind everything he'd said; it wasn't just the anger talking.

"That man's conscience is bothering him, Hoss," Joe said, "And he doesn't even realize it."

"I noticed," Hoss said, "Only reason to come talk to us, I reckon."

Joe nodded absently.

Hoss continued, "But I don't see what Cochise has got to do with it."

"Hoss, Pa's tanned your hide before," Joe said, "And he's tanned mine. But as I got older, he found a better way to get through to me when I knew I'd done something wrong but wasn't admitting it."

"Oh?" Hoss inquired.

"Yeah," Joe replied, "He'd send me out to take care of the horses, whether they needed it or not. Nothing gives you time to think like taking care of a horse, especially if he belongs to the man you wronged. I should know, I did it enough."

"Pa had you take care of Sport and Chub?"

"And Buck too," Joe confirmed with a slight nod.

"He never sent me out to the horse barn," Hoss said.

"Probably he never sent Adam either," Joe shrugged, "We all know I was a lot more trouble than I was worth sometimes. Anyhow, it's easy for your conscience to make itself heard when you're looking at the shine of a horse's coat coming out while you brush him."

"You think Cooch can get through to that fella when we couldn't make a dent in him?"

"I think Cooch can get through to even the most stubborn, pigheaded kind of idiot there ever was," Joe replied, "After all, he got through to me enough times, didn't he?" after a moment of silence, he added quietly, "If that man really has any conscience at all, Cochise will find a way to make him face it."


	13. To Pass the Time

When Hank returned to the sheriff's office, he gave the note to Jake Williams. Jake didn't read the note, and Hank hadn't expected him to. He figured that if he just kept giving the Williams' brothers things with writing on them, they'd eventually get curious and read for themselves. To that end, he took his time pouring himself a mug of coffee that was by now quite stale, sauntered over to his desk and sat in the chair behind it. He took off his hat and laid it aside, took a swig of the coffee and tipped his chair back. Jake waited, not so much as glancing at the note.

"That," Hank said enticingly, "is a copy of a message Artly sent yesterday," he downed more coffee, then added slowly, "to Virginia City."

Unfortunately, Jake was more inclined towards detective work than reading, and Hank had just inadvertently given him enough information to make an educated guess as to what the note said.

"Canaday was telling the truth," was Jake's confident guess.

Hank carefully maintained a look of blandness that he had perfected over the years by listening to people make hysterical accusations or equally hysterical declarations of innocence. He'd learned that the slightest expression would only encourage them, and they'd read whatever they wanted into it. The best he could hope for was to convince them he had no opinions of his own, though a close second was that he was completely indifferent. It usually stopped all the shouting aimed in his direction.

"So who sent it?" Jake inquired, "One of the deputies from Elodie?"

Hank didn't answer, instead he took another gulp of the bad coffee. Himself, he would simply drink coffee until it was gone before making any more. But he was looking forward to Steve getting back. Steve was more particular, and he threw day old coffee out and made fresh, usually grumbling about how he was surrounded by uncivilized people. Jake only drank coffee to wake up from a hangover.

"So I guess we've got no call to go on holding him," Jake suggested, starting to get up.

"Let him be," Hank commanded, then swallowed the last of the coffee, "Steve's not back yet."

"Aw, Hank, if the rest of what he told you was true, why would he lie about the horse? Even if he stole the Jeff Kailen Mare, he had a pretty good reason, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, a very good reason," Hank agreed, starting to sip more coffee before realizing he'd finished it in less than half a dozen large gulps, then setting the mug on his desk, "So good, in fact, that we couldn't possible risk letting him go."

Jake leaned back in his chair, a puzzled look on his face. But it cleared quickly. Jake wasn't as dumb as he looked, nor even as dumb as he acted.

"You think those men from Elodie will be back to finish what they started?" Jake asked.

"If you had committed kidnapping, planned a robbery and already attempted murder, wouldn't you?"

"I reckon I would at that," Jake replied thoughtfully, "But that's hardly an excuse to keep him locked up, is it?"

"He still unconscious?" Hank asked.

"Yep," Jake said, "Before the doc left, he said it was between Canaday and God now. Told me to check on his patient frequently, monitor the fever, but said there wasn't much else to be done."

"Well, it doesn't sound like he'll be complaining about being locked up unfairly for awhile anyway," Hank said, "He's probably better off sleepin' through it anyway."

"You expect this to turn out badly," it wasn't a question.

"Very possibly," Hank answered, "If we're assuming everything Canaday told us is true, he's been through Hell trying to save those Cartwright boys. If that fever doesn't kill him, hearing the boys didn't make it out after all he tried to do probably will."

Jake frowned, staring at the floorboards as if he expected to find something there. He usually did that when he was thinking hard about something difficult. Hank waited for Jake to catch up with him. After all, he'd read the note several minutes ago, comprehended its meaning and considered his options. And Jake didn't even know one of the most significant details in the note because he refused to read it.

"You don't intend to sit by idly and watch this thing play out, do you?" Jake inquired.

"Of course not," Hank said, "I sent a message to the Elodie sheriff, telling him that I have Canaday. I expect he'll be sending his deputies out here any time."

"What'd you go and do a thing like that for?" Jake asked, his eyebrows climbing in alarm, "They'll come here and ask to take him. They'll take him out of town and shoot him again, assuming they don't just drop him somewhere and let the wolves finish him off."

"Don't be absurd," Hank admonished, "The wolves around here only bother cattle."

"That's not what Ol' Toby says," Jake said.

"Ol' Toby can't tell a wolf from a fence post except on Sunday," Ol' Toby was always sober on Sundays, at least enough to find his way to church, "And anyway it doesn't matter. We're not giving them our prisoner in any case, so if there are man-eating wolves out there, they'll have to look for somebody else to gnaw on."

"Then I don't see why you want the Elodie sheriff to send his deputies out here," Jake confessed.

"Oh come now. Your pa was a military man, same as mine before he died," Hank said, "Didn't he ever teach you anything?"

"You know he did," Jake said, "But what are you talking about?"

"Tactics, Jake," Hank said, "One of the oldest methods of winning a fight against a group is to split it up, and take it down in pieces. Any deputies that come out here are on our ground, giving us the advantage. We stop them here, that leaves the sheriff with fewer deputies to wage war on us."

"You expect a war over the Cartwright boys?" Jake asked curiously.

"You would too, if you saw the amount of money they were after," Hank nodded towards the note, but Jake didn't look at it, "There's gonna be a shoot out before this is all over, and I'd prefer the odds to be on our side. Besides, we have some waiting ahead of us, and cutting down the numbers in Elodie is a good way to spend the time."

"What are we waiting for?" Jake wanted to know.

"If you'd read the note, you'd know," Hank replied, and would say no more about it.

Among other things, the note contained instructions that one Benjamin Cartwright come to Dewton immediately, and be prepared to part with his money if he wanted his boys alive. Hank Walker didn't like the idea of a wayward third party wandering about unattached, and he fully intended to keep an eye out for this Benjamin Cartwright, and find out what kind of man he was. If Cartwright was amenable to letting Hank carry out his plan, so much the better. But if Cartwright was under the unfortunate delusion that just giving the kidnappers what they wanted would get his boys back, Hank was prepared to arrest him to prevent his interference. Either way, it meant waiting for Cartwright to arrive.

The Cartwright boys -assuming they weren't dead already- would be safe enough until their father arrived. Then it was up to Hank to make sure they stayed that way. Until then, he planned to do everything he could to make the job easier.

* * *

Cochise could be a very particular horse when it came to making friends. He could be nippy and impatient with other horses, though he was more apt to completely ignore horses he didn't like. He didn't typically take to strangers, having the same reserve and suspicions of his master, without the human sense of etiquette and morals making him give people a fair shake before deciding he didn't like them. However Joe's fondness for women had sort of rubbed off on the little pinto, either that or Cochise pretended such in order to please his master. One could never tell what a horse had in mind.

But one way to influence Cochise's opinion was to feed him, particularly when he was hungry. The strange man with the tin badge came in and fed the horses one by one, and Cochise was so hungry, and the food tasted so good that he was instantly smitten. He finished the food placed in his bucket and, after making a thorough inspection to make sure he'd gotten it all, he stretched out his muzzle to see if the man had perhaps held back something, maybe a carrot or a bit of sugar.

"Yes, you're very cute," Mayer remarked coolly, trying to discourage the animal's friendly advances by not responding to them.

Having determined the man didn't have anything good in his pockets, Cochise grabbed the edge of the man's hat and yanked it away from its owner, then tossed it aside with a flick of his dark head.

"Hey!" the man went after the hat while Cochise looked on.

Cochise had been penned up for long enough that he'd gotten bored. And when the little pinto got bored, he got inventive and ornery, especially when there was no affectionate apology or treat offered to make up for the injustice. Having taken a liking to this man, Cochise was just playing with him.

"You're a bad horse, you know that?" Mayer said, picking up his hat and checking it for damage.

The other two horses, a big dark brown and a red chestnut, looked on without evident interest. Far as they were concerned, it was cold outside and they would be perfectly happy to stay here together where it was warm until the weather changed for the better. Now they'd been fed, they were reasonably contented. But the pinto tried to grab Mayer's hat again. Mayer swiped it out of reach.

"Come on, you!" Mayer scolded, "I fed you, and this is the thanks I get?"

Cochise stood there and gazed right at him out of intelligent brown eyes. He blew hot air out of his nostrils and flicked his ears, and Mayer remembered what the younger Cartwright had said about exercise. He supposed that was probably what the horse wanted now he was fed.

Mayer had never had any cause to inspect Josh's stable, so he had to go around back to see if there was any corral. There wasn't, which Mayer found rather annoying. He also found it irritating that Josh was nowhere in evidence. The horses needs were meant to be seen to by Josh, who knew the owners of these horses wouldn't be caring for them. What sort of irresponsible creep left horses locked up without feed and with frozen water buckets?

He went back into the barn and was greeted by a whinny from Cochise, who had been concerned that the man was going to leave him before finishing the job. Cochise expected to be groomed, and to be turned out of his stall, or else saddled up. Though he was accustomed to no other rider besides Joe, Cochise had often been cared for and saddled up by ranch hands or livery stable owners. Far as he was concerned, Mayer was a caretaker, and Cochise was going to put up a fuss if he didn't finish the job. More than one lazy ranch hand had been discovered because Cochise set to neighing and carrying on until someone came out to see that someone sent to care for him hadn't done their job right.

"Okay, okay," Mayer said, looking around for a halter and lead rope, "Settle down."

Cochise snorted and pawed at the hard floor of his stall.

"You know, Sheriff Holt would kill me if he found I'd left the jail unattended to look after you," Mayer found himself saying, finally locating a halter tossed carelessly into a corner.

When he turned back, he found the pinto staring at him, ears pricked forward, like he was listening intently to every word, a look in his eyes suggesting an eery kind of comprehension. No one could ever say for sure if Cochise really understood when Joe talked to him, though Joe would have asserted that he did, but the pinto made a magnificent illusion of it if he didn't.

Cochise was perfectly happy to lower his head so Mayer could slip the halter on and buckle it, and he was willing to be led out of his stall. But when Mayer attempted to take him from the barn, Cochise balked. Mayer tugged the lead, but Cochise merely braced himself and refused to budge. In fact, when Mayer gave him enough slack, Cochise took a few steps back, just to make extra sure his point got across to the man. He knew humans could be a little dense sometimes, particularly new people, who weren't used to the way things worked.

"Don't you want any exercise?" Mayer asked, "Aren't you tired of being locked up in here?"

Recognizing the inquiring tone, Cochise helpfully looked around until he spotted a brush, then he stared at it until Mayer followed his gaze.

"Oh," Mayer said meekly, "I see."

Cochise happily turned around and walked with Mayer to the more sheltered interior of the barn. Mayer tied the lead off, and picked up the brush Cochise had pointed out to him. It was in pretty bad shape, worn and ill-cared for, but he figured it would do the job well enough.

Cochise was annoyed to find that Mayer wasn't very skilled with a brush, and required a bit of correction. He didn't pick up on subtle signals like flicking ears, so Cochise opted to side step away from him when he brushed the wrong way or started in the wrong place, and moved in closer when his technique was too soft or hesitant. He pawed the barn floor to signal impatience if Mayer lingered too long in one place that didn't need it. Cochise was an experienced educator, and unafraid to assert himself and make his preferences clearly known. Joe had always encouraged him to express his opinions, even on subjects which a horse had no business having an opinion on.

Cochise liked this man, who was gentle with horses and appeared to mean well -and most importantly had fed him when he was hungry- and so he was patient in his instruction of the woefully inept human. Mayer had brushed horses before, but only the sort of horses that put up with whatever Mayer did. He was used to grooming a horse until it was 'clean enough', but Cochise took a nip at his gloved hand when he laid aside the brush and tried to untie the lead shank before he'd done a thorough job.

"You're the most demanding critter I've ever been around," Mayer told the pinto.

Cochise flicked an ear at him, and cast a significant look at where Mayer had left the brush.

Mayer clenched his teeth and growled, " _Fine_."

He picked up the brush and resumed grooming the horse.

Once he'd started caring for the animal, he felt a curious sense of obligation to finish what he'd started. As Joe had predicted, once Mayer settled in to thoroughly grooming the horse, he got to thinking about things, and the things he thought about troubled him. Satisfied that the man was going to do his job right this time, Cochise relaxed and began enjoy himself.


	14. The Plans That We've Made

Candy was not unconscious.

Like most people, Candy had a profound dislike of being locked up. Over the years, he'd come to understand that it was just something that was going to happen to him from time to time, but he also knew that he'd never be happy about it. He also knew that he'd never be as relaxed about it as he had been prior to the incident involving a lengthy and undeserved stay in a mine pit. Four walls seemed to close in on him a lot more than they used to, particularly if he couldn't see outside.

The Dewton jail cell wasn't cramped like some he'd been in, and -if he'd been able to stand- he could have seen something besides sky out of the barred window if he'd stood on the side of the cell farthest from it. But, just now, standing was completely out of the question, and he didn't have much interest in what was going on outside the window. It was what was going on in the office that worried him. He didn't know if he'd made any impression on that sheriff, or if anything had been done.

Not knowing if his job was completed, he couldn't find it in himself to relax into waiting. Candy didn't like waiting, but it was something he'd become quite good at. He didn't remember much about the night before, and certainly remembered little since the fever set in, but the sound of an unfamiliar voice out there worried him. The sheriff he'd met yesterday was talking quietly with another man whose voice Candy hadn't heard before. Because they were quiet, and the wall between the jail and main office muffled the noise, he couldn't tell what they were saying, and that frustrated him.

More than that, it concerned him. If that other voice belonged to one of the Elodie deputies, all Candy had gone through the day before might have been for nothing at all. He knew there were other people it could be, but he'd long ago learned to hope for the best, assume nothing and be prepared for the worst. If that was an Elodie deputy, Candy knew his best chance of survival was to stay right where he was. The only hope he had for that was if the Dewton sheriff decided Candy was too sick to move just now (which certainly felt true, even if it wasn't). Candy couldn't count on that.

Another thing Candy had learned was that, if people saw him as helpless, that gave him an advantage. When he'd been about ten years old, one of the soldiers at the fort had told him that he'd better learn to fight with his hands tied behind his back. Candy had questioned that at the time, not understanding why that was a skill he needed to learn. The next thing he'd known, the soldier -one Corporal Travis- had thrown him and tied him like a calf at branding time.

Candy had been badly frightened, and the wind had been knocked out of him. Growing up with a bunch of soldiers, he of course had learned the art of combat early, but of the men stationed there, Corporal Travis had been the one with the fastest reflexes, and Candy couldn't hope to match him at that time. Tied and lying in the dust, Candy hadn't known what the corporal intended for him next.

Corporal Travis had stood back for a moment, either to admire his handiwork or give Candy a chance to collect his wits. Then he'd said simply, "Now defend yourself."

Candy had protested that he couldn't, not when he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But the corporal had insisted. Travis hadn't hurt Candy any, and he'd carefully instructed Candy, pointing out to the young boy that he had more at his disposal than just his hands. Every inch of him could be used as a weapon, not just his feet, but his knees, shoulders and even his head if necessary. Tied up, he could still hit somebody hard enough to knock the wind out of them or even break something if he hit hard enough in the right spot. Lesson one had been upsetting, but Candy soon got used to it, and it wasn't long before the good corporal was teaching Candy different ways of fighting while handicapped in some manner, as well as escaping when people assumed he wouldn't be able to. In fact, many of the soldiers had taught him escape techniques they'd learned one way and another, and Candy had even invented a few of his own along the way. It was a plain fact that nobody could hold him for very long if he didn't want them to; given enough time and motivation he could get out of just about anything.

Another soldier, a sergeant, had advised Candy that there was one weapon Corporal Travis always overlooked. That was the tongue. A man might talk his way out of a situation even when he couldn't fight, if he knew what to say and how to say it. A third soldier taught Candy that sometimes sweet talking wasn't the answer. If you could make somebody mad, they might make mistakes, and give you the opportunity to attack them when you otherwise wouldn't be able to.

All of this was important for him to know, but what tied it together was something even more vital for him to understand. He needed to know his own abilities and limitations, and keep that knowledge to himself so nobody would ever quite know how much he was really capable of. When he was outnumbered and outclassed in a fight, Candy had learned that a good way to escape from too bad a beating was to feign unconsciousness, because a lack of reaction took the fun out of it. That's assuming of course that the people beating him up didn't want him dead.

In this instance, it seemed like it was in his best interest that he be thought to be unconscious, or at the very least unable to move on his own. Fine if everyone thought that, but Candy himself needed to know if he could do more than that. He knew he didn't have much strength left in him, but he needed to know exactly how much. He needed to assess exactly what he could do. If it came down to it, and he found himself being carted back to Elodie by the crooked deputies, he needed to know what he had left to fight back with. He knew that -if he was taken back there- he would never leave Elodie alive again.

It was hell trying to sit up, but he managed to push himself up and lean against the wall of the cell so he could look around. He was shaky and sweating, he knew he was still feverish and in no shape for a brawl of any sort, but he also knew only too well that fighting for your life didn't have anything to do with feeling. You didn't get to pick when or where you fought if someone was out to kill you, what you got to do was choose how hard you tried to keep your life. And Candy had no intention of being killed.

Moreover, he had no intention of letting the Cartwright boys be killed.

He hoped Sheriff Walker was smart, though he knew more depended on whether or not the sheriff believed him than the man's overall intelligence. Sometimes it was the smart sheriffs that got Candy in the worst kind of trouble, because smarts weren't the same as wisdom or cleverness or experience, and those three things were far more critical than merely being smart. If the Dewton sheriff was any or all of those things, he would at least look into what Candy had said, even if he didn't believe.

Candy hoped on the sheriff, but at the same time he sat there and looked at where the cell keys were hung on a wall peg, and he began to think of how he was going to fight back if hoping wasn't enough.

* * *

Stanley Harris had returned to Elodie with George James, cold, tired and discouraged. They had been among the first to become involved in this scheme of Holt's, and Lee had been one of the men Canaday nailed in the stable. George had been the other one, and he had the shiner on his face to prove it.

They'd ridden out after Canaday, tracking him to a rundown ranch halfway to nowhere before they lost the trail. George was convinced that their quarry had hidden somewhere on the ranch, but Lee had talked him out of it. They'd checked the barn, and surely the people living there would know if he was in the house. So they'd ridden on into Dewton, where Jace Colby had been sent to use the telegraph office to send a message to the senior Cartwright. They'd passed Jace along the way, but he said he'd seen no sign of Canaday. In fact, the only thing he'd seen was a dark colored animal he thought might've been a wolf slinking around the town's outskirts.

"If I didn't know better," Jace had said, "I would think it was Lacy's dog."

"What would that dog be doin' all the way out to Dewton?" George scoffed, and the matter dropped.

Lee and George had talked to the Dewton sheriff, a sleepy, bored looking kid barely old enough to carry a gun. The sheriff promised to keep a look out for their runaway prisoner, but Lee didn't hold out much hope that the kid could catch anything trickier than a fluffy kitten. If Lee had spent any time around kittens, he would've been more impressed with anyone able to outfox one, but he hadn't.

Rather than stay in town, because neither of them felt comfortable with the notion, Lee and George made their way to a line shack George had pointed out earlier. In the cold winter, most people wouldn't mind if a line shack was used briefly. In the morning, they headed back for home. The trail was cold, and they didn't expect to find Canaday. Maybe some of the other deputies had had better luck.

When they got in, they were surprised to find the sheriff's office completely empty. George immediately went back and checked the jail room. He returned to report that the prisoners were there, but nobody was with them. Lee frowned.

"Stay put," Lee said, "Keep an eye on those two while I look for Holt and Mayer."

"Fine by me," George said, dropping wearily into a chair.

Lee shook his head irritably. At the start, he'd liked this idea of Holt's. It seemed like easy money. But it seemed like he'd been doing all the work since then. With the cooperation of Josh Jones, Holt had arranged for the Cartwrights and their companion to come to him, Mayer and Jenkins. Lee and George had been assigned to keep an eye out in case they didn't all go along. It turned out that they hadn't. Canaday had stayed in the stable, and they'd gone in after him.

They'd come up behind him, but it was almost like he was psychic. Before Lee got to say or do anything, Canaday had struck him in the face with an elbow, splitting his lip. Canaday had then turned on George, while Lee had taken a moment to clear his head. Canaday had brought George to the floor before Lee managed to intervene, getting an arm around the cowboy's throat. But Canaday hadn't been finished then. He'd employed his elbow again, and Lee had felt an explosion of pain just below his ribcage that for a moment had him all but convinced that something inside him had burst.

George was up again by then, and managed to engage Canaday just as Lee lost hold of him. Together, they'd managed to wrestle him into submission, but Lee knew they'd been lucky to get close enough to prevent him from ever using his pistol, because he surely had the ability. They'd finally gotten him when George twisted his right arm behind him and at the same time Lee had caught him by the bandana and choked him with it until he went down.

At the time, they didn't know if they had a Cartwright or not, but Holt had informed them in the sheriff's office that they didn't need him. They could have just shot Canaday in the stable and been done with it. But no, they'd found out late, and Canaday had slipped free of them. Lee and George got sent after him, while Holt and Mayer stayed behind. Holt always had liked Mayer best, even though Mayer had been the least keen on this whole notion. In fact, Lee was pretty sure Mayer was about to turn to Holt and ask why they had to kill Canaday when everything had gone to hell.

When things went sideways, where was Holt? Was he helping Lee and George? No, of course not. He'd turned to help Mayer with the scrappy little Cartwright. Jenkins at least had been engaged by the hulking giant one. George had helped to put a stop to that one, and Lee didn't blame him because the tall Cartwright looked like he was strong enough to pick up a horse and carry it.

And when Holt had failed to stop Canaday with a bullet, whose horse had been stolen? Well naturally it had been Lee's. But did that mean he got to stay behind? Of course not! Holt told him to take Mayer's horse and get after Canaday. It had been a losing proposition ever since. Assuming Canaday hadn't simply dropped dead in the snow somewhere, there was no way he was going to be tracked down. Canaday was long gone, though Lee couldn't figure how.

Lee's horse had pulled up lame, and Canaday had abandoned it. But where he'd gone was a mystery.

And now, to come back and find that nobody was manning the sheriff's office... it would not be an overstatement to say that Lee was upset, and felt he had a perfectly good reason to be.

His mood was in no way improved by finding Mayer down the street near the livery stable walking a black and white pony. Lee remembered the pony had been in the stable the day before. It seemed the pony remembered him too, because it neighed and shied away as he approached, evidently seeing him as a bringer of noise and chaos and violence and not liking that at all.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Lee shouted at Mayer, and the pony tossed its head, tugging at its lead rope while Mayer tried desperately to keep hold of it.

"Did you find Canaday?" Mayer inquired, ignoring Lee's question and choosing to keep looking at the pony instead of paying attention to the man.

"No," Lee snapped, "Found my horse, an' he's lame now. Canaday musta rode him 'til he quit, then abandoned him in the snow," Lee muttered a few choice curses under his breath.

Mayer had the pony back under control now and stroked its neck, finally looking at Lee.

"So what are you doing back in town?" Mayer asked, "Sheriff Holt told you not to come back until you had him. Harris, you know what it'll mean if Canaday gets word to Cartwright."

"Don't you scold me!" Lee snarled angrily, and the pinto snorted and shook its head again, "I been out there all day yesterday and all night last night lookin' for Canaday while you stayed cozy and warm at home and all I got to show for it is a lame horse!"

As he began shouting and getting right up in Mayer's face, the pinto neighed, backed up and then abruptly threw his head and reared. Mayer let the animal's lead slide through his fingers, and kept a level stare on Lee, refusing to flinch even though Lee was older, taller and had twenty pounds on him.

"Well you can't blame me for that," Mayer said with maddening calmness, "It was Sheriff Holt's decision who stayed behind, and he gave you my horse anyway. I don't recall my getting bent outta shape about that," the pinto came back down just as he finished.

"And why should you!?" Lee yelled, "It meant you got to stay here!"

"You ride horses straight into the ground," Mayer replied, in a quiet but firm voice, "And you use a bit like a saw. I'll be lucky if I even have a horse when you get through with him."

"What do you mean _when_?" Lee demanded hotly, "I _am_ through!"

"I wouldn't be so sure," Mayer said, "I expect Sheriff Holt will send you right back out when he hears you left the job unfinished."

"And what about when I tell him you left the office to play with a horse?" Lee asked.

"That's my problem," Mayer told him, bringing the pinto to him and stroking its nose, "Not yours."

Before Lee could make a retort, a messenger from the telegraph office came running up breathlessly.

"I got a message for the sheriff's department!" the youngster said, irritatingly looking at Mayer and not Lee, "An' I can't find Sheriff Holt nowhere."

"Well give the message to me and I'll see he gets it," Mayer said patiently.

When the kid got through repeating the message, Lee knew with grim certainty that he was about to be sitting in a saddle again, making the lengthy ride back to Dewton with George, riding Mayer's horse.


	15. Blue Memories Calling

Joe felt reassured by the exhausted and frustrated look of the deputy who'd gotten a black eye from Candy. The man's expression when he peered into the jail room for a moment was one that a person would only wear if they had utterly failed at a set task and were deeply concerned about the potential consequences. It told Joe all he needed to know. Candy was still out there somewhere.

Glancing at his brother when the deputy closed the door, Joe knew Hoss had seen the look too, and knew what it meant as well as Joe did. There was still hope then. Of course, it was also possible Candy had dropped in the snow somewhere and nobody had found him simply because he'd never gotten up again. But neither Joe nor Hoss wanted to believe that possibility, though they were both aware of it.

They both also noticed when Lacy arrived awhile later that neither the newly arrived deputy nor the woman were as cautious as they ought to have been. Joe glanced at Hoss, who laid a subtle restraining hand on his arm. They were incautious, yes, but not enough. If Joe and Hoss made a break for it now, likely they would be stopped, possibly shot and definitely would get their captors' guards back up.

Unlike the deputy who'd remained behind, the one with the black eye looked like he and his conscience hadn't been on speaking terms for years, so there didn't seem like much point in harassing him. Lacy, on the other hand, was beginning to look a bit worried, like maybe she was beginning to absorb the true meaning of what she and the others were doing, the enormity of the crime, and the sin of murder.

Hoss tapped Joe's arm, signaling that he was going to take the lead on this round. Joe made no acknowledgment, except to turn his scowl away from the people and towards the "breakfast".

Hoss wanted to open the conversation by asking Lacy if her mother hadn't taught her to make anything but brown rubber on a plate, but he figured that wasn't likely to do anything except make her mad, and if she was mad she was less likely to think, and less likely to feel guilt for what she was doing.

"I s'pose you know that this can't end well for you," Hoss said to Lacy as she set down her tray.

"Canaday won't be a problem much longer," Lacy said, but it was clear from her tone that it was just talk; she had no idea where Candy was or what might be happening to him, "After that, everything should fall into place. We just have to wait for the money."

"You mean you have to wait for our pa to give over his life savings to save his sons," Joe corrected, then gave Hoss a brief glance which Hoss didn't dare return.

Joe had hit the exact note with his words and tone that Hoss would have suggested if they'd discussed this the night before. But they hadn't talked about how they would talk to their captors, it was something they had to figure on the spot.

"And then you kill us," Hoss added.

"I suppose you've thought about how our pa will feel," Joe suggested, "Spending Christmas alone, two of his sons dead, murdered no less, and after he did exactly as he was told," he narrowed his eyes slightly, "A pretty awful way to spend Christmas, if you ask me."

Lacy looked angry, and Hoss wished Joe would be a little less prickly in dealing with her. Not that he wasn't just as mad as Joe was, but it seemed like a gentler touch might be in order with Lacy. But she hadn't left yet, in fact she came up with a retort that surprised them both.

"You want to know about an awful way to spend Christmas?" Lacy all but snarled, her face contorting in her upset, which suddenly seemed more like grief that she'd turned to anger, rather than an enraged response to Joe's remarks, "I'll tell you about awful."

Joe sat back against the wall of the cell. He kept his expression carefully neutral, but Hoss could see the smug look in his brother's eyes. He'd gotten Lacy to start talking, and he'd gotten her into an emotional state. A moment later, Hoss understood why it had been so easy for Joe to do.

"Try a Christmas where your father holds a shotgun on the person you love and demands they annul your marriage or else get shot," Lacy said, "Or one where you find yourself married to someone you don't love, and they insist you go to bed together because they want an heir, and so you do, even though you don't want to. Or one year you find yourself in a town full of strangers, with no money and finding yourself wintering in a shack that was supposed to be temporary, and some young deputy comes riding in and tells you that you're a widow now," after her tirade, she brushed back her hair and continued in a more level tone, "I've spent more Christmases than I care to count sitting alone in a saloon, praying for a miracle, hoping for someone to come along and make all the wrongs that have been done to me right, like the Good Book says. But I'm tired of waiting."

"So..." Hoss said slowly, a confused look on his face, "you got the idea to wrong other people who never did nothin' to you. And that's gonna make all them wrongs you mentioned right somehow?"

"I don't care about right or wrong anymore," Lacy sighed wearily, "I'm just tired of living this way. And so is everybody else in Elodie."

"Well I'm not so fond of livin' this way either," Hoss gestured to indicate the cell he and his brother were being kept in, subtly including the tray of food Lacy had put in with them, "But I ain't plottin' to murder anybody to make myself feel better."

"You'd kill any one of us, given a chance," the deputy challenged from where he stood near the door.

"If we had to," Hoss admitted coolly, "But there's a heap o' difference between murder and killin' in self defense. I ain't never murdered nobody, but I expect that's a guilt that's mighty hard to live with."

"It's hard enough if it was an accident," Joe said, and Hoss knew the pain in his voice wasn't feigned.

Joe had counted himself responsible for more than one accidental death, most recently the death of a friend of his. Nobody could talk him out of feeling guilty over that, even though objectively it wasn't his fault. Hoss had his share of guilt from unfortunate incidents himself. But something told him that the deputy standing there wouldn't feel guilt like they did. He wasn't convinced Lacy would either, at least not soon enough to stop the killing. It might eat her up later, but that wouldn't do them any good. Still, Joe seemed to be on the right track, seeing as Lacy hadn't fled the room yet.

"Ma'am," Hoss said, and observed Lacy stiffen slightly at the way he addressed her, but he pressed on anyhow, "it's been my experience that a way of livin' has less to do with circumstance and a heap more to do with how folks choose to feel about it."

Lacy looked doubtful, and perhaps unsure what Hoss had said. Joe pitched in again.

"My brother's right," Joe said, "More money won't make you any happier. You'll still be a bitter, angry woman, no matter how much money you've got, because you choose to be that way, whether you realize it or not."

"What would you know about it?" Lacy asked, "You were born rich, and your father never picked who you would marry, and you were never moved out to the middle of nowhere on a promise that was never fulfilled, only to have that person you married be killed by their own ambition."

"No, no I haven't," Joe admitted, "But I've known people with all the money in the world who were poorer than beggars in spirit, and people without a penny to their name who were richer than kings. And it had everything to do with how they decided to view their lives, and what they chose to do."

"It ain't about what you got," Hoss added, "It's about who you are, and what you do for others."

"Or to them," Joe concluded.

"That's a lovely sentiment," Lacy said, her tone cold, "But sentiment doesn't put food on the table or clothes on your back."

"No," Hoss agreed, "Hard work does that."

"If you're lucky," Lacy remarked, then turned away and left in a hurry.

She'd moved quickly, but Hoss had still seen a hint of tears in her eyes as she fled the room, the deputy in tow. He glanced at Joe, who was poking at the breakfast with the provided utensil, which didn't seem sure whether it was meant to be a spoon or fork, making it the perfect instrument for an object that wasn't clear on whether it was food or material for making a saddle.

"Think we pushed too hard, too fast?" Joe inquired, not looking up from toying with the food.

"I dunno," Hoss said, "That lady's got a lot of anger in her, don't she?"

Joe nodded, "I didn't expect her to go off like that. Maybe it was for the best."

"Yeah," Hoss said, doubtfully, "Maybe."

* * *

Steve took one look at Hank and Jake in the sheriff's office and said, "What did I miss?"

Jake handed Steve the note from the telegraph office, but Steve passed it to Hank before turning to the coffee pot on the stove and shaking his head disapprovingly. He took the coffee pot away, poured out its contents, refilled it with water and stuck it on the stove. During this time, Jake languidly brought Steve up to speed on what the note said and what Hank's plan was. Steve listened, but said nothing until he managed to transform the cold water into something hot and drinkable.

Wordlessly, Hank took the first cup Steve poured, and Steve poured himself another, offering it to Jake.

"I don't drink the nasty stuff," Jake said, as Steve had known he would.

Steve took a sip of the hot coffee and looked at Hank curiously.

"What do you want to get involved in the affairs of Elodie for?" he inquired, "Especially at this time of the year."

Steve and Jake were good deputies because they had a sense of duty to their town, but also because they would follow Hank's instructions. Steve's question wasn't a refusal, and Hank knew full well that he could simply shrug indifferently and Steve would go along with it. But he also knew that the boys resented work and danger in particular during their Christmas vacation, and they were none too fond of being sober during that time either, so he owed them something more substantial.

He returned to his chair and took a sip of his coffee, observing that you just couldn't swig hot, fresh coffee like you could cold, stale coffee.

"Seems to me they already involved us, the minute those deputies stepped into my office and gave me the name and description of Canaday," Hank remarked, leaning back in his chair.

Jake was occupying the deputy chair, having tipped it onto its back legs and put his feet up on the deputy's desk. He had his arms crossed and his chin against his chest, and looked about ready to nap.

There wasn't another chair in the office, to the frequent annoyance of people who came in to complain. Hank had found that people with trivial complaints were not likely to stay long if they had nowhere to sit, and people with serious complaints were usually so wired they couldn't sit anyway. People who came just to visit took the liberty of perching on the desk of the sheriff or deputy, and seemed not to mind the insufficient number of chairs.

Steve shoved Jake's feet off the desk and sat on its edge. The front legs of Jake's chair came down with a loud thunk that reverberated through the old floorboards of the sheriff's office.

"I assume he was telling the truth about the Jeff Kailen Mare," Hank said.

"Oh yes," Steve replied with a nod, "And Clint Tanner's marrying the widow Kailen."

Hank sipped his coffee slowly.

"Took me awhile to find someone I could leave a message with for the doc. Widow Kailen could be having her baby any time now," Steve continued, "Hopefully she does that before the storm gets here."

"Storm?" Hank inquired, "Who said anything about a storm?"

"I did," Steve said, "Just now."

Hank nodded. Usually one went to an Old Timer for the weather, but in Dewton nobody could predict the weather like Steve. The man could sniff the breeze and predict a rainstorm a week in advance, and tell you whether it was going to happen in the morning or afternoon.

"When's the storm coming in?" Jake asked, not questioning his brother's prediction.

"Day or two from now, I think. Wind's a little indecisive."

Hank had noticed snow storms were apparently harder for Steve to predict than other types of weather. He had a theory that cold temperatures threw off whatever means Steve used to predict weather.

"Well gimme an update when it makes up its mind," Jake suggested, then turned and tilted his chair and put his feet up on the other end of the desk from where Steve was sitting.

"So what happens when the Elodie deputies get here?" Steve asked.

"We tell them they can't have our prisoner, and then we arrest them."

"On what charge?" Steve asked, "You realize they may not all be in on it. Could be just the sheriff and a couple of the deputies, the rest may have been fed a line of bull. You can't arrest a man for having believed a lie, can you?" he glanced at Jake, who made no response.

"We can arrest them on suspicion," Hank replied evenly, "Release them when it's all over if it turns out they had no idea what was really going on. But I don't think those Elodie deputies are in the dark."

Steve let go that line of thought and picked another, "What if they don't go quietly?"

Jake snored softly before Hank could answer. Steve shoved Jake's feet off the desk and he woke with a jerk and soft-voiced curse in time to hear the response.

"We do what we have to," Hank answered, "But I'm saying it now, the less gun play and killing, the better I'll like it.

"Me too," Steve said with feeling, taking another sip of his coffee.

A few years ago, there had been a drunk in the saloon that needed to be removed. Unfortunately, he had started a bar fight, and then followed that up by trying to shoot his way out. Steve had taken a bullet in his shoulder. He hadn't even been wearing a deputy badge that time, but he'd gotten involved in helping Hank subdue the gunman and been shot as a result. Though it was Steve who'd been hurt, it had been Jake who was enraged and muttering epithets for weeks afterward. Hank hoped to avoid getting anybody shot this time if it were at all possible, though he would rather shoot the men from Elodie than have Jake, Steve or himself be shot.

Involved in reflection, he took too deep a swig of coffee and burned his throat. He hoped fervently that burning himself with coffee was the worst thing that would happen to him this week.

Jake sighed heavily, "What a way to spend Christmas."

Hank said nothing, but silently agreed.


	16. Should You Stop?

Lee was not happy. Back at the office, Lacy wouldn't even entertain the idea of bothering Sheriff Holt. She insisted that he'd been up all night and needed sleep. That put the responsibility for decision making on Mayer, since he'd been left in charge of the sheriff's office. That really rubbed Lee the wrong way. Mayer was younger than the rest of them, and had always been his mother's boy, too polite, too soft, and too preoccupied with the concepts of right and wrong. Hell, he wouldn't even condescend to get drunk on a Saturday night. But he sounded decisive enough when he assigned Lee, George and Jace Colby to go out to Dewton and retrieve Canaday.

"What about you?" Lee challenged.

"Sheriff Holt told me to stay here," Mayer said.

"That didn't seem to be bothering you when you went out to the livery stable and left the sheriff's office empty," Lee pointed out.

"That's my business," Mayer said, his tone even but his eyes flashing with irritation, "You just keep your mind on yours. Get out to Dewton and bring back that cowhand."

"It'd be a lot easier if he met with an accident on the way back," Lee suggested.

"No," Mayer snapped, "You bring him here, _alive_."

"What for?" George asked, "We're just gonna kill him anyway."

"Just do as I tell you," Mayer growled, rounding on George and leveling a glare at him.

In that moment, Mayer's gaze was flint-hard, with no sign of the sweet, slightly sentimental and overly etiquette bound man they were all well familiar with. He looked all but murderous.

"You wouldn't be getting cold feet, would ya, Mayer?" Lee inquired, making no attempt to conceal his scorn.

Mayer gave Lee a glance, but he didn't move until George had backed off.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Mayer said, "I don't owe you anything."

"And just what in the hell does that mean?" Lee demanded.

"It means, you three get on your horses and ride. And bring that cowhand back in whatever condition you find him. If Sheriff Holt wants him dead, he can finish the job himself when he wakes up."

Mayer turned and strode to the deputy's desk. He sat in the chair behind it, and pointedly looked out the window facing the street, a sure sign of absolute dismissal. Lee and George looked at each other. George shrugged, and the two of them went out to locate Colby so they could drag him along. So far, Colby had had it pretty easy, and it felt good to get him out of bed and make him come on the errand.

Bringing in Canaday, particularly wounded, should have been a one man job, though having a second man to lookout for hazards aside from the prisoner was always a good idea. Mayer had assigned three men to accomplish the task, yet it somehow still didn't feel like enough to Lee.

Of course, Holt had gathered up some more men to serve as deputies, but for some reason Mayer didn't name any of them for this trip. If Lee had been feeling reasonable, he'd have seen the sense in sending out the deputies the Dewton sheriff had already met, but he wasn't feeling at all reasonable. And besides, he didn't much want to deal with that stupid kid sheriff. And he especially didn't want to deal with Canaday, particularly since he'd been forbidden from killing the man and getting it over with.

Colby was disgruntled, but not particularly concerned. He'd never tangled with Canaday, and hadn't spent all day yesterday trying to track him through the snow. Colby also wasn't much of a bar-fighter, so he didn't know that George was usually a force to be reckoned with.

Canaday had put George down like he was nothing, and flattened Lee as well just for good measure. It had taken the both of them together, fighting dirty, to get control of him in the first place; control they'd lost minutes later in the sheriff's office.

True, Canaday had since been shot and was probably in no shape for yet another round, but Lee had gotten a pretty good idea of the man's capabilities. It wasn't just that he was a mean fighter, though there was that too. He was wild as bobcat and just as difficult to hang onto, and somehow he'd lost his pursuers when conditions for tracking were all but perfect. Frankly, if Lee had his druthers, he'd walk into that Dewton sheriff's office and shoot Canaday in whatever cell they were holding him in, and then maybe shoot him again just to make sure he was dead.

But he figured the Dewton sheriff probably wouldn't stand for that.

* * *

Mayer didn't know why he went back to the jail room after Lee and George had left with Colby, and Miss Weston returned to her saloon. Actually, he knew why he went to the room, he just didn't know why he felt the need to say what he had to say. There was no sense in it, but he did it anyway.

When he entered, he found the Cartwright boys poking lethargically at the breakfast Miss Weston had provided, looking more worried about the food on their plates than their own impending deaths.

They gave him a glance when he entered, then proceeded to ignore him, as if they had collectively decided not to speak to him anymore. He supposed he couldn't blame them for that.

"Canaday was caught," Mayer said after a lengthy silence.

The look of utter horror in the eyes of both Joe and Hoss was unmistakable. Somehow, Mayer knew the fear wasn't for themselves, but for Canaday. They weren't afraid that he hadn't reached help for them, they were afraid that he was dead. Hoss was the first to recover.

He swallowed and asked, "How?"

"Sheriff in Dewton caught him in town," Mayer replied neutrally, "I don't know the particulars. I sent some men out to retrieve him."

"To kill him, you mean," Joe corrected, his look of fear melting into one of hostility.

"I told them to bring him back alive," Mayer said, then sighed, "But yes, probably. I..." he fumbled for the words to explain something he himself didn't understand, "I thought you should know."

"Thanks," Joe said, but clearly he didn't mean it, and Mayer didn't blame him.

Mayer left.

Suddenly he couldn't bear to be in the building, much less the room. He didn't think, he just left the jail room, closing the door behind him. Looking around the office, he felt suffocated and continued outside, closing that door as well, then leaning against it as the ice cold winter air hit his lungs.

There was no question in Mayer's mind as to what was right and what was wrong. He knew this was wrong, he _knew_! But what else was there for him to do? His mother was getting older, the place he shared with her was getting more rundown despite his best efforts. Even if he could have afforded to buy something nice for her, he couldn't get anything like that in Elodie because the shopkeepers couldn't afford the expense of shipping, especially not when they knew none of the residents would be able to afford the price necessary for them to make a profit on the venture.

Elodie was dying, and Mayer didn't know how else to save it.

Mayer touched the deputy badge on his chest. This wasn't what he'd agreed to put it on for. Way back when Sheriff Holt had first approached him for it, Mayer had been interested in ridding the town of gunfighters and thieves, and protecting it from drifters looking to tear up a town to pass the time. It was a responsibility then, now it just felt like a weight.

Taking a deep breath, Mayer decided to go find Josh. Maybe he could do nothing about the injustice being done to the Cartwrights, but he could do something about the deplorable conditions their horses were being kept in. He could fantasize, at least for a little while, that he was still the champion of the innocent and the powerless, which was what he'd signed up for, what his mother believed he still was.

She believed in him so much that she didn't even ask what Sheriff Holt had wanted, getting Mayer out of bed in the middle of the night. She didn't question what was going on, simply trusted that her son would take care of it, and would tell her if she needed to know. She didn't usually want to know what he was doing until whatever was happening was all over, because the thought of him in danger was understandably terrifying.

He wondered what he would tell her when she inevitably asked at the end of all of this.

He was saved from having to think too long on it because he found Josh right where he expected to, in the darkest corner of Lacy's Saloon, dead drunk and oblivious to the world. He noticed also that Miss Weston's dog was present, sitting at the base of the stairs and gazing fixedly at Josh.

The dusk colored animal was as big as a man, with long legs and large paws, upright ears and a piercing gaze that seemed to see right through people. The animal showed no reaction to Mayer's presence, and neither moved from the spot at the bottom of the stairs nor stopped staring at Josh.

Mayer picked up the remains of Josh's last drink, a beer, and poured it over his head to wake him.

Josh came to consciousness swinging, but Mayer simply stepped out of his way and observed quietly as Josh spun himself out of his chair and collapsed onto the floor. Josh flipped over and squinted up at Mayer.

"What you want?" Josh slurred.

"I want you to do your job, Mr. Jones," Mayer replied coolly, "And take care of the horses."

"Aw, nobody's gonna look for them horses anytime soon," Josh muttered, grabbing onto a chair to help himself sit up, "I'll get rid o' 'em when I get 'round to it."

"I don't mean that," Mayer said, "I mean feeding, watering, grooming. Do you have any blankets for them? Or else a way to patch those cracks in the wall that are letting the wind in?"

"What do you care?" Josh inquired, closing his eyes as his hand slipped off the chair and he fell back onto the floor, where he continued with, "They ain't yours horses."

"And they're not yours, either," Mayer told him.

"I'm the one 'at's got to sell 'em," Josh said, giving up on the idea of sitting up and crossing his arms in front of him defiantly, "That makes 'em my problem."

"You won't have anything to sell if you don't take care of them," Mayer pointed out.

"So what? I get a cut from the Cartwright boys, don't I?" Josh asked, opening one eye enough to look up at Mayer.

"Yes," Mayer admitted, "Everyone involved will."

Josh closed his eye, said, "Good 'nuff," and then began to snore.

Mayer shook his head, then kicked Josh in the boot.

"What?" Josh snapped.

"If you won't take care of the horses, Mr. Jones, then I will," Mayer said.

"Fine," Josh replied, "Just leave me alone."

"Glad to," Mayer informed him, and stepped over the prone Josh on the way to the exit.

Before he made it out, Mayer noticed Miss Weston over by the bar, gesturing urgently. As he approached her, it became apparent to him that she had been crying. Her face was a mess, and her hair had never looked as unkempt as it did now.

"Miss Weston?" he spoke her name inquiringly, using a low voice so it wouldn't carry upstairs to whatever room he presumed Sheriff Holt was occupying.

"Deputy Mayer," Miss Weston replied, her voice cracking as she sniffled.

"Is something wrong?" Mayer realized the question was ludicrous; everything about what was happening was wrong, in fact he couldn't remember the last time anything had been right in Elodie.

"Oh!" Miss Weston cried, then continued to sniffle, pulled a handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes ineffectually.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't tell me what's the matter," Mayer said, using his best patiently prodding tone to encourage the distraught woman to open up and speak to him.

"It's the Cartwright boys," Miss Weston finally gasped, before she had to sniffle some more.

"The Cartwrights? What could they do to make you so upset? They're locked up," Mayer exclaimed, though he managed to keep it to just above a whisper.

"Oh it's not what they've-" she broke off, grabbing her trembling lower lip in her teeth, then taking a shuddering breath before trying to speak again, "Oh we've done an awful thing."

"Yes, Ma'am, I know," Mayer admitted softly, "But we've all got our reasons."

"I know, I know we do," Miss Weston said, "But... I feel so guilty about it, and we haven't even gotten to the worst part yet. I'm... I'm not sure I can go through with it."

"Miss Weston, you haven't got to do anything. Sheriff Holt and us deputies will take care of it."

"I understand that," Miss Weston told him, "But... I know what's happening, what's going to happen. And yet... here I am... not only doing nothing to stop it, but actively condoning it. You understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mayer said, thinking he understood more than she could possibly imagine.

Miss Weston did not appear to have a mind to continue talking. She turned away and blew into her handkerchief, and then kept her back to Mayer.

"Excuse me," he said, "I have something I need to tend to."

She did not acknowledge him, did not even appear to hear. Miss Weston showed no sign of awareness that he was leaving her establishment until he pushed the door open, at which time she spoke, her voice barely audible.

"Deputy Mayer," she said, " _We can't do this_."

The statement felt like a knife in his heart, the painful stab of truth, and he was surprised to hear himself responding with, "Yes, Ma'am. I know."


	17. In the Eyes

"How's the fever?" Hank asked of Jake, beginning to tuck into an early supper that Steve had retrieved from the kitchen of Artly's hotel.

A small man with bad eyesight, Artly could do little for law enforcement in his own town, except offering a discount on both room and board to anybody wearing a star. He sold any meals destined for the sheriff's office at half the usual price.

Taking the plate Steve indicated was his, Jake sat on the deputy's desk and said, "Going down, I think."

"Any signs of consciousness?" Hank inquired, noting the fourth plate Steve had thoughtfully retrieved.

"Not really," Jake shook his head, "Just this look on his face like he knows something we ought to."

"Prob'ly dreamin' he didn't get through to Hank," Steve suggested.

"He could probably worry about that just as well if he was awake," Hank remarked, "At the time he told me, I didn't believe him, and he knew it too."

"How could you tell?" Steve asked.

"He's what you call... psych," Jake said, as if he were reminding Steve, "Reads people's minds."

"It's psychic, and I do not," Hank corrected, "It's in the eyes. If you spent half as much time looking at the eyes of those girls you're so fond of, you'd know why they always slap you and walk out."

"If he looked at their eyes instead of other things, they wouldn't slap him and walk out," Steve put in.

"Everybody looks at a gal's eyes," Jake protested, "I figure they must be dressin' up because they want somebody to look at the rest of 'em for a change."

"No, you look at them that way because you enjoy not bein' hitched and know it will offend them," Steve told his brother, then looked at Hank, "You see, if he offends them, they won't ask him to go steady or marry."

Hank shook his head and took a bite of fresh roll to avoid having to respond.

Jake and Steve were both permanently single, but they had radically different ways of going about it. Jake chased after anything in a skirt until it slapped him, whereas Steve would give females no more than the time of day and a tip of his hat as demanded by politeness. It was well known around town that both men were unobtainable, but that they made good gentleman company to parties. Steve would make no move on a woman, ever, for any reason, but he would defend her from other men if she needed it, and some of the prettier, more delicate girls needed such protection. Jake would dance, hold hands, kiss and go as far as the girl would let him, but a scolding "No!" was enough to restrain him and make him behave, making him quite an exciting but also perfectly safe choice. Jake would also protect a girl if some dude got grabby, but it took a tougher, more adventurous female to handle him. But the safest thing about the both of them was that -guaranteed- there would be no jealousy when a woman inevitably found another man she wanted to get serious about, or even just fool around with.

"If you didn't believe him, what made you look into it?" Steve asked after a couple of minutes.

Hank paused with his fork lifted, looking thoughtfully towards the closed door to the jail room. Then he turned back to his plate and took the bite he'd been started on. He chewed carefully and swallowed before he replied, giving himself time to compose his response.

"I don't rightly know," Hank admitted, "There was somethin' about him. A look in his eyes that I couldn't ignore. Besides, it was easy enough to check out his story. Easier than I expected, actually."

"So..." Steve glanced at Jake, who looked back at him, "what you're saying is that it was a gut instinct?"

Gut instinct had about as much credibility as psychic powers in Hank's book, and the brothers knew it, and it amused them to yank his chain about it as often as possible.

"No such thing," Hank said sharply, "It was just that... well, it seemed strange that he'd come here, knowin' I'd arrest him. He came here, ready to beg if he had to, not for himself but for the Cartwrights. He didn't ask me to let him go, nor even spare the energy to protest his own innocence until I pressed him on it. It didn't seem right that he'd go to such trouble to tell a lie if it didn't get him anything," he paused, then added, "Most men won't beg for somebody else's life, especially not when their own is bleeding out of them on the floor. It got me to thinking, and I realized some things didn't seem to add up like they should have if those Elodie deputies had been honest."

"And I s'pose..." Steve glanced at Jake again, who smirked and looked studiously at the wall to hide it, "That the fact them deputies treated you with disrespect had nothin' at all to do with it."

"I should never have told you about that," Hank muttered, and Jake burst into laughter as a result.

They were just finishing their supper when the sound of hoof beats alerted them to the arrival of the Elodie deputies. In a moment, Jake had left the desk in favor of leaning against the door to the jail room, feigning nonchalance and utter disinterest in his surroundings. The deputy's desk was across the room at an angle to the sheriff's desk, so Steve didn't get up, though he leaned back slightly and his right hand dropped below the desk out of sight, and Hank knew he'd laid it on his pistol.

"Easy, boys," Hank warned them.

They both glanced at him, but didn't relax. They joked as much as they liked, but when it came down to it, they were ready to fight, kill or die as needed. They didn't really care why Hank dislike the Elodie deputies, the fact that he did was enough for them to be on their guard.

A moment later, the two deputies from before came in. Hank noticed that they both looked haggard and more than slightly irritated about something. The one on the right had a black eye, the other had a nose that looked rather dark and swollen, like someone had taken a poke at it. They hadn't given their names, and Hank wouldn't have bothered to remember them if they had.

"We came to take Canaday off your hands," said the taller one, the one whose nose might be broken; he nodded towards the door Jake stood in front of, "He back there?"

"Yes," Hank replied, "But I'm afraid I can't let you take him."

"Why the hell not?" the shorter man demanded hotly.

"Well, you see, he's been shot," Hank drawled with purposefully irritating slowness.

"Yes, we know. Our sheriff shot him, we told you that," the taller man reminded him.

"So you did," Hank said, pretending to be reaching back into a lethargic memory to recall that fact, "But, you see, I had a doctor look him over, and the prognosis is that he can't be moved. Taking him back to Elodie would kill him," Hank suspected that would still be true even if Canaday hadn't been shot, but he elected not to say so, nor indicate he suspected any such thing, instead continuing with more shaded honesty, "So, you see, I couldn't in good conscience hand him over to you."

"Do you have... _any idea_ what that man has done?" the taller man asked, with thinly veiled anger.

"Other than run from you after being shot? Not really," Hank replied, "You didn't give much in the way of details, but I don't see how it matters just now."

Hank would later make claims that he saw the irrational look in the tall man's eyes, noted the subtle twitch of his hand, the burst of anger that twisted his face. But nobody would believe it. It would always be said that he just _somehow_ knew, inexplicably. Whatever warned him, sixth sense or scientific observation, Hank ducked just in time to avoid being shot as the taller deputy drew and fired.

A second shot answered the first, but the Elodie deputies were moving. The tall one backed toward the door, avoiding Steve's bullet by inches, while the other lunged for Jake and they fell to wrestling. Hank started from behind the desk, his pistol drawn and leveled on the Elodie deputy in the doorway. A third shot was fired, but it didn't come from any of the men in the room.

This shot came through the window, and struck Hank in the gun arm, just above the elbow, forcing him to drop his pistol. Before he could recover, the bigger of the Elodie deputies was on him, and he was faintly aware of a third one plunging into the room; barely avoiding being shot by Steve.

As Hank was pinned in the corner, he saw Jake being wrested away from the door. He hoped that there were only three men from Elodie, and wished he'd paid closer attention to those horses so he'd know how many there were. He hadn't counted on even numbers, and hadn't expected the deputies to be so easily enraged. Nor had he anticipated one of them being strong enough to heft Jake off the door.

Hank shoved his assailant back and went for his gun, but the man was on him again before he could reach it, and the attempt ended up sending the gun spinning across the room, out of reach. Now the Elodie man was on Hank's back and he couldn't get him off. He felt the hand going around his throat, but there was nothing he could do about it. His left arm was angled towards the floor because he'd been reaching for his pistol, the other arm was useless to him now.

He knew that, if he blacked out, the man on him would be free to pick up the gun he'd dropped and finished off Jake and Steve, who were preoccupied now with adversaries of their own. But he couldn't get free, and couldn't get any air. The first thing to go was his hearing, which dimmed until the only thing he could hear was the roar of blood trying to get out of his head. His vision went next, skewing, then darkening until he could only see the reflection of lamp light on the floorboards.

And then, quite suddenly, the body on top of him shuddered violently and fell back, starting to drag him with it, then suddenly loosing its hold on his throat. Hank gasped and looked around wildly, trying to assess what had happened, even though his senses took time to restore themselves.

The first thing he noticed was that the closed door Jake had leaned against was now open. The second thing he noticed was there was a man standing in it; or, more properly, sagging against it. It took him a moment longer to recognize Canaday, who by then had stumbled over to where Hank was lying. Canaday all but fell on the desk, but his concern was clearly for Hank.

"You okay?" his voice was a strained, painful sounding whisper.

Hank tried to ask how Canaday had gotten out of his cell, but found that his throat wasn't prepared to make sounds just yet. Instead of answering, he grabbed onto the edge of his desk and heaved himself up. Canaday, fully half of him resting on the desk, offered Hank his pistol.

Taking the pistol, Hank made his way around his desk and over to where Jake was currently losing the fight with the deputy on him. Hank fired a shot into the floor right near them, sending wood splinters in all directions, and causing the Elodie man to freeze where he was. Jake immediately shoved the man off, and drew his own pistol, aiming it at his former adversary and current prisoner. Hank looked over at Steve, who was just then socking his own adversary in the head, which dropped him like a sack of bricks. Steve issued a self-satisfied snort, and looked around, dusting off his hands.

"Where's the other one?" Steve inquired of Hank, his voice somewhat breathless.

"Over behind my desk," Hank replied.

Steve looked in that direction, and noticed Canaday lying across Hank's desk.

"How did he get out?" Steve asked, drawing a look from Jake, who jumped slightly at the sight of their escaped prisoner slumped over Hank's desk.

"I don't know," Hank said, glancing at the bullet wound in his arm, "But I'm glad he did, otherwise that one would've been the end of me."

"You shouldn't," Canaday spoke weakly and rather slowly, but with sense of humor intact, "leave keys... in reach... of prisoners."

Jake's eyebrows climbed, and the Williams boys exchanged looks with each other and Hank, the last of whom merely shrugged helplessly, having no idea what Canaday was talking about.

The only still conscious and living Elodie deputy said sullenly, "Slippery as a snake, that one. Knew you couldn't hold onto him for long anymore'n we could."

"You're one to talk... about snakes," Canaday grumbled, offering the Elodie man a glare.

"Jake, Steve, put those two away," Hank instructed, nodding at the Elodie men.

"What about him?" Jake inquired, nodding at Canaday.

"I don't think he's going anywhere," Hank replied.

Jake glanced at Steve, who merely shrugged. They removed the conscious man first, locking him up, then the two of them ferried the unconscious one into the jail room.

In the meantime, Hank checked the dead man, and found Canaday had shot him in the side of the neck, directly below his right ear.

"Nice shot," Hank observed, offering him a helping hand off the desk.

"I almost missed him entirely," Canaday confessed, accepting the help.

Having nowhere else to go with Canaday, Hank helped him drop into a chair. Canaday moaned quietly once he was down, and let a breath hiss through his teeth. Hank wanted to ask him again how he'd gotten out, but Jake and Steve returned before he could, looking perplexed.

Steve was carrying a belt and the ring of keys to the jail cell.

"I found these on the floor," Steve told Hank, who turned a questioning look on Canaday.

"You didn't think I got out by magic, did you?" Canaday inquired, with a wry grin.

It was Jake who figured out what he'd done.

"You swung the belt, using the buckle as a weighted end and knocked the keys off their peg," Jake surmised, "And then somehow hooked the ring with the buckle to drag them into your reach. Then all you had to do was unlock the door."

"Give the man a raise," Canaday said, with a nod at Jake, "And... in the future... keep your keys to yourselves. Not all criminals... are as helpful... and friendly as I... am."

Despite his evident levity about the situation, Canaday looked pale and strained, and when he checked the wound at the man's back, Hank found it was bleeding again. Hank realized Canaday had taken a significant risk with his life, not even knowing if Hank and his deputies intended to help him or not. He also realized that Canaday must have been awake and feigning sleep, otherwise he would not have had the time to figure out how to escape, nor would he have realized Hank and his deputies were in trouble.

Though the term snake did not appear to be applicable, the Elodie deputy wasn't wrong about how hard it would be to hold Canaday against his will. No wonder they'd been so riled up. Canaday not only knew what sort of crooks they were, he'd probably embarrassed them handily when he escaped.

"So..." Canaday ventured slowly, looking up at Hank, "Do you believe me now?"


	18. Cold Outside

The sound of a horse snorting alerted Hoss and Joe to the fact that someone was around back. Like a great many sheriff's offices, this one had a back door that accessed an alley behind the building. The door was in the jail room, and Joe and Hoss had of course noticed it earlier, but it didn't do them any good seeing as they couldn't reach it. Now it interested them because they wondered who would be creeping into the sheriff's office the back way, and if it should concern them.

Had they not already been told where Candy was, they might have suspected he'd come back to let them loose. But they did know where he was, assuming they believed Deputy Mayer, whom they had no reason to doubt. Even had their pa known where they were, he couldn't have arrived so quickly, so that ruled him out. They knew no one in Elodie save their captors.

The horse snorted again, and Joe recognized it.

"That sounds like Candy's horse," Joe remarked.

"Joe, if ever there was a horse that sounded just like every other horse-" Hoss didn't finish his sentence, because he heard the sound of the door being unlocked.

It opened a moment later, and Deputy Mayer slipped in. Joe and Hoss exchanged puzzled glances that didn't quite dare to be hopeful. Mayer looked extremely worried and very distracted, barely even aware of Hoss and Joe watching him as he entered the building furtively, like a thief, even though he knew as well as they did that the front office was currently empty.

Mayer looked unsure of himself and what he was doing, but not knowing what he'd come to do made it impossible for Joe and Hoss to guess if they should be encouraging or discouraging him, so they merely sat and observed as he made his way over to the door, then stopped to listen.

"Sheriff Holt will be over here any time now," Mayer said, seemingly talking to himself more than either of the Cartwrights, "Miss Weston's tryin' to stall him with some dinner, but..." he trailed off.

The sheriff's office had been quiet and empty for most of the day. Lunch had come quite late, brought by Lacy, with Mayer watching her. They hadn't stuck around for conversation, in fact they seemed like they could hardly stand to be in the room at all before they departed.

Now it was obvious why. They had been changing their minds about what to do. Joe and Hoss rose slowly, stiff after having been locked in the small room for so long, especially in the cold.

"I told Lee and the others to bring Canaday back alive... but I don't think they will," Mayer continued, fumbling with the keys before managing to get the right one in the lock of the cell, shaking his head as he did so, "I sent Colby with them, thinking he'd keep them in line... but Lee..." he turned the lock and the door opened, "Still, you should go to Dewton. That's where your pa will be."

"What about you?" Hoss inquired, knowing only too well that henchmen who turned on their leader seldom lasted long.

"Whatever happens, Elodie is my place," Mayer replied, "I can't leave. Besides, Lee has my horse."

He led the way cautiously to the door, and peered out before leading them outside to where the horses stood waiting. Mayer had retrieved their gun-belts, rifles and saddlebags, which were all waiting on the saddles of their horses. Mayer pulled another gun out of his belt.

"This is the one we took off Canaday," Mayer explained, "I don't suppose he'll be alive by the end of the night... but I figured you should have it anyway."

Joe took the pistol and gazed at it thoughtfully, before saying, "Hoss and I are going after him."

"You can't!" Mayer protested, "I sent Lee, George and Colby out. Lee's got the temper of a bear with a sore tooth, and Colby's a crack shot. You shouldn't even take the road to Dewton if you can avoid it. If you can't, just get off if you so much as hear any riders coming."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Joe said.

"Candy isn't just a hired hand," Hoss explained, "He's also a friend of ours."

"They will _kill_ you," Mayer persisted.

"We'll take that chance," Joe said, taking his gun-belt down from the saddle and putting it on.

Mayer looked helplessly from Joe to Hoss, who was retrieving his own gun-belt

"Okay," He sighed finally, in a tone not denoting permission but unhappy resignation, "Okay. Now, the sheriff in Dewton shouldn't have anything against you, Lee and George only mentioned Canaday. So you should be able to go to the law once you get there. But make sure to avoid anybody wearing a badge that isn't the sheriff. A couple of our deputies are still out looking for Canaday, and they may have holed up in Dewton to avoid staying out at night. If they see you, they'll probably kill you."

"Any other helpful advice?" Joe inquired, somewhat impatiently.

"Get as far as you can before tomorrow morning. Sheriff Holt won't try to track you in the dark, but he'll be out at first light, along with every able-bodied man he can roust out of bed."

Joe didn't make a response to that, and instead swung up on Cochise's back. Mayer had brought Cochise and Chub, along with Candy's horse, each of them fully tacked. Hoss handed Joe the reins for Candy's horse before he got up on Chub. Just as they were starting to turn their horses away from the back of the sheriff's office, they heard a woman's shout of warning.

"Go!" Mayer instructed.

To emphasize the command, he smacked Cochise on the rump with his hat, and the little pinto leaped into the street. The alley was a dead end, which meant they had to go down main street. Mayer's objective in letting them out the back was to reduce the chances of their being seen before they got underway. But there was no other way to get out of town other than through it.

As they rode by, Joe noticed Sheriff Holt pull out his pistol, and Lacy thwart him by grabbing onto his arm. A second man whom he recognized as the owner of the livery came out of the saloon and grabbed hold of Lacy to get her out of the sheriff's way. From the interior of the building there issued an unearthly and deafening roar, and an instant later a beast the color of the surrounding night lunged through the open door and slammed into the back of the livery owner, driving him to the ground.

Joe and Hoss didn't stop to sight see. They spurred their horses into a gallop and ran out of town, not once looking back. They had other things to do just now besides deal with the sheriff of Elodie and anyone who might have heard the commotion and be coming to his aid.

Even aside from the possibility of recapture, the boys knew they were now in a race against time. Their pa would be going to Dewton, likely to deliver the ransom. They didn't know how the money was to be delivered, but they fully expected that whoever was waiting to retrieve the money would probably kill their father once the transaction was made. Besides which, the men dispatched from Elodie to retrieve Candy would probably be trying to kill him as soon as they got out of town.

Recently fed, watered, groomed and warmed up, Cochise all but threw himself into the snow, and Joe had to rein him in so he could check where they were going before they'd already gone. Outside of town, when he hit the deep snow, Chub threw his head up and tried to find a way around it, but Hoss urged him on and the dark brown horse did what was asked of him.

* * *

In the dark, on a snow-covered road they were not well familiar with, it was difficult to tell where they were, or if they were still on the road at all. Perhaps fortunately, the road had been well-traveled since the snow fell last, a lot of riders had come and gone between Elodie and Dewton.

The broken up snow became their main indication that they were on the road. It wasn't long before Hoss was riding just a little ahead of Joe, because his big horse would keep to the broken trail if he could, whereas Cochise seemed to rather enjoy forging his own path. The little pinto seemed disinclined to do anything the easy way if there was the possibility of adventure to be had. Just now, that habit of Cochise's was a bad one, and so the brothers used the more reliable Chub to make sure they didn't lose the path in the dark.

Both Hoss and Joe had traveled in the dark before, but there were thick clouds gathered in the sky, blotting out the moon and stars, and leaving them very nearly blind. It was unclear if Chub was picking his way by sight or by feel, but whatever kept him on the road was good enough. The horses could see better in the dark than the men could, but they had many other fine senses to work with as well.

Though there had been little wind when they started out, it wasn't long before there were some strong gusts blowing against them. As the wind got stronger, Cochise became more determined to plunge into the deeper snow off the trail. Joe realized the little horse was looking for shelter.

"I think we may be in trouble," Joe called to Hoss over the sound of the wind, the volume of which he only realized when he tried to make himself heard.

The noise of the wind had crept up on them, as had its speed.

"I think you may be right, little brother. Chub keeps tryin' to stop and turn tail to the wind."

"Cooch too," Joe said.

They didn't have to discuss between them what that meant. Lesser horses might duck and shy at a little stiff wind or cold, but Cochise and Chub were reliable, steady horses. They were acting up not because of a little wind, but because of what was coming. Joe didn't know if it was going to snow, or if the wind was merely going to blast hard enough to cause a whiteout. Either way, they didn't want to be stumbling around in the open when that happened.

But they were caught. They couldn't go back to Elodie, and there was no telling how far Dewton might be. Around them there were only the black shadows of a few trees, not enough to provide much shelter, and the howling of the wind. The snow was already beginning to be lifted from the ground, Joe realized it was swirling ominously around his horse's legs.

But it wasn't either of the Cartwright boys or their horses that saved them from what might have been a deadly night out in the storm. It was Candy's horse. Willing and eager to follow any other horses that happened to be around, he wasn't preoccupied with trying to communicate anything to a rider. Instead, he was alert to his surroundings. Suddenly he raised his head and whinnied what sounded like a response to another horse's contact call.

Joe looked over at the chestnut, almost invisible to him because of the interference of the dark and debris carried on the rising wind. The animal's head was high, his nostrils flared and ears pricked up. He was seeking confirmation to what he believed he'd heard. After several seconds, the chestnut whinnied again, then dropped his head, accepting the fact that he was already attached to a group and couldn't go visiting the other horse he'd heard.

But now he'd been stopped and noticed his rider was listening intently, Cochise must have heard the other horse as well, because his ears twitched forward and he started to lift his head as if to say something, then abruptly thought better of it for whatever reason.

"Seems like there's a horse out there," Hoss remarked, observing the behaviors of both Candy's horse and Joe's, "Maybe one with a barn."

"I'll take that bet," Joe replied, and nudged Cochise in the direction that Candy's horse had been listening.

Cochise was only too happy to break away from the road. He plunged into deep snow, but shortly floundered to another trail, one that had also been traveled recently. Hoss followed. When Cochise paused uncertainly, Candy's horse took the opportunity to neigh a contact call.

This time, Joe was close enough to hear the response. Not just one horse, but several, replied. It was enough to get them underway again. Cochise moved forward eagerly, clearly hearing something he liked in the voices of the other horses. Joe didn't know if it was an invitation to share their barn or if they'd complimented him on his vocalizations. One could never tell what spurred strange horses into liking or disliking each other just from calling to each other over a distance.

Without requiring any further instruction or guidance, Cochise trotted through the dark until something large abruptly blocked the worst of the blowing wind. Joe realized they'd entered a yard, bordered on one side by a barn, on another by a ranch house.

Candy's horse neighed again, and there was a definite response from inside the barn.

"I could kiss you," Joe told the horse, who wasn't paying any attention to him.

Cochise shifted his weight and turned back his ears. Joe laughed, relieved and amused by his horse's quick jealousy. He patted the animal's neck and waited for Hoss to catch up. They dismounted and led their horses over to the closed barn where they could huddle out of the wind.

Then they went to knock on the door of the ranch house.

The door was flung open, and the Cartwright boys stood blinking in the sudden light. Joe got the impression of a tall man with a dark mustache, who frowned at them.

"You're not the doctor," the man remarked, which under the circumstances seemed like an utterly bizarre thing for him to say, and Joe had trouble comprehending what it might mean.

"No sir," Hoss replied, for once quicker on the uptake than Joe, "We just got caught in this storm, and were wonderin' if we could-" he broke off because the man had already gone away, leaving the door standing open.

Hoss looked at Joe, who merely shrugged. They decided the open door was close enough to an invitation, and they stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind them.

The interior of the house was warm and inviting, if smaller than they were used to. They stared around, their eyes adjusting slowly to the light provided by a roaring fireplace and several lighted lamps scattered at odd intervals across the room.

When they heard the sounds from down a short hall, they suddenly understood. Exchanging looks, they confirmed that both of them had heard it, and knew what it meant. The man was looking for a doctor because there was a woman down that hall in the process of giving birth.

"I guess we better see what we can do to help," Hoss said, pulling off his jacket and laying it aside.

"Right," Joe agreed, removing his hat hurriedly.


	19. Something Special

Now the jail was full of actual criminals, it became necessary to move Canaday. After thinking about it for a short time, Hank decided that the only feasible location was Artly's hotel. Unfortunately, the rooms were all upstairs, and Hank didn't believe Canaday could make it. So he confiscated Artly's bedroom, telling the man to use one of the hotel rooms in the meantime. Artly wasn't overly thrilled about the arrangement, but the hotel was mostly vacant anyway.

Hank was right, Canaday couldn't make it across the street, much less upstairs. Steve and Jake mostly carried him between them, and then Hank inspected the wound that had been reopened, wondering how much blood a man could lose before he died, and how close to the limit Canaday had already come.

Then Jake redressed the wound on Canaday, while Steve saw to the one in Hank's arm.

"I think that bullet needs to come out," Steve told Hank.

"And who's gonna get it out? You?"

"Doc's out of town," Steve replied, "So unless you'd rather Artly do it..."

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Jake protested.

"Which one of us has steadier hands, huh?" Steve shot back.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Hank said, not especially wanting either of them to operate.

They were decent deputies and good friends, but in his opinion they had no business practicing more than basic first aid level medicine.

"If that bullet had hit a little more to the right, you wouldn't be hearing anything," Steve remarked.

"You mean left," Hank said.

"What?"

"If it were more to the right, he would've missed me entirely."

"No, more to the right... wait..." Steve looked perplexed, and Hank enjoyed it.

They were of course talking about left and right from different perspectives. From the perspective of the shooter, Steve was right. But from his own perspective, Hank was right... or left.

"And you want to know why he doesn't want you to operate on him."

This low muttered remark came from Canaday, who was lying on his side, facing the wall so Jake could get at the wound on his back. He'd made no protest or complaint during his relocation, in fact he'd said nothing at all since the fight in the sheriff's office until now.

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Steve said, somewhat irritably.

"Oh, go make some coffee," Jake told him, "It's one thing you can't do wrong."

"I thought you hated coffee," Hank said.

"I do," Jake replied, "That's why Steve can't ruin it."

"If you weren't tending to a wounded man, I'd smack you," Steve informed his brother.

"Thank God for small favors," Jake responded calmly.

"Look," Steve said, looking forthrightly at Hank, "The doc's gonna be tied up delivering babies for who knows how long. Wind's kicking up and it's dark out there, so chances are he won't make the trip back to town until the storm's gone. By then, you'll be sick as a dog, unless you let _someone_ get the bullet out. So either pick one of us," he nodded at Jake, "Or I'll flip a coin and pick for you."

Hank looked at Jake, who glanced up from his work just long enough to show in his expression that he agreed with his brother. In the moment it took Hank to think it over, Jake had finished tying off the bandage on Canaday.

Hank sighed, "Alright. Fine. Jake, you go back to the office and keep an eye on our prisoners. Steve..."

He didn't have to finish the order. Jake was already out the door and gone, and Steve was brushing past him to go to the kitchen, where he could sterilize a knife using the fire in the stove, and boil some more water. That left Hank and Canaday alone in the room. Hank sighed and sat on the small wooden chair next to the bed. Canaday continued to lie on his side, staring at the wall.

"Brothers?" Canaday inquired.

"They are," Hank replied, "I'm not related."

"Exhausting, isn't it?"

"You could say that," Hank said, "You got brothers?"

"No," Canaday replied quickly, "No brothers," Hank heard what Canaday didn't say; that he had no family at all.

"Me neither," Hank told him, "Fact is, those two are the closest I've got to having family. But you know, I wouldn't trade them for any number blood relations."

Canaday said nothing to that, so Hank said it for him.

"That's how you feel about the Cartwrights, isn't it?"

Canaday was quiet for a long time, then he finally said quietly, "Yeah. I guess that's right."

Hank nodded to himself, then said, "I'll do what I can to get 'em back for you."

Canaday twitched, evidently surprised. He turned his head to look at Hank over his shoulder. There was a wary, almost suspicious look in his blue eyes, but he said nothing as he silently studied Hank, looking for something in Hank's face. Finally he turned back towards the wall.

"Thanks," it was spoken almost too softly to hear, but the relief contained in that single word was unmistakable.

* * *

Fortunately, it was not the first time Joe and Hoss had found themselves assisting in the delivery of a baby. They comprehended the importance of clean blankets and boiled water. In fact, they seemed better equipped to handle the situation than their mustached host, who seemed capable only of holding tightly to the woman's hand and brushing sweat from her forehead with his free one.

After giving them a 'who the hell are you?' look, the woman seemed content to let them help. She was obviously even better informed than either of the brothers, because she sometimes gave them instructions or corrections about what they ought to be doing, when she could spare the time and energy.

During a lull in activity, Hoss took the opportunity to ask if they could stable their horses in the barn. The man stared blankly as though he were being addressed in a foreign language, but the woman nodded her assent.

"Just be careful not to scare the youngsters," she managed to say.

Without discussion, Hoss went out to take care of the horses. In the small house, and in particular the tiny bedroom with a bed too large for its size in addition to other furniture, and also the large and mostly inert mustache, Joe was the better asset. Being small did have its advantages at times.

The wind was much worse, and Hoss could barely see. He staggered towards the barn, unable to tell clearly where he was going. The storm was getting well underway, but he wasn't sure if it was snowing or if it was merely the wind picking up old snow and throwing it around.

Evidently seeing him coming, Cochise moved from wherever he'd been huddled and shoved his muzzle into Hoss' hand, which had been outstretched to search for the barn. Already half numb with the biting cold, Hoss reached out and grabbed a handful of the pinto's mane. Cochise was only too eager to lead him to the closed barn door, wanting out of the icy wind just as badly as Hoss himself.

Hoss found Chub and Candy's horse pressed up against the barn door, positioned side by side, their tails turned to the wind.

"Some help you two are," Hoss remarked.

Chub flicked an ear in Hoss' direction, but didn't move. Unlike Cochise, Chub had never been terribly independent of mind, nor had he been encouraged to do tricks as Cochise had. Hoss led his horse into a stall like a normal person, Joe would dismount and tell Cochise to go to his stall, then follow the horse into the barn. Hoss' horse drank water in the morning like a regular animal, Joe shared his coffee with the pinto and asked his opinion on whether or not it had been made strong enough.

Joe had once said, "You may get a less obedient horse if you encourage him to be independent and make decisions, but you get a better and more intelligent friend out of the bargain."

For once, Hoss wasn't laughing about the Joe's odd handling. He was glad Cochise had come to find him. He would have found the barn eventually, but blowing snow was disorienting, especially when coupled with the darkness. He decided not to tell Joe about the incident, knowing his younger brother would be supremely smug about it and would probably never let him forget it.

Hoss opened the barn, and the three horses immediately hastened inside while he located a lamp he could light. The barn was somewhat full of horses. There was one empty stall, but all the occupied ones were doubled up. It took him a moment to realize that these were mares and yearlings he was looking at. He was long accustomed to foals being separated from their dams by the time they got to the age these ones were at. The yearlings shied away from him, but the mares all stuck their heads forward, looking for treats or attention, investigating the stranger with overt friendliness.

At first, he didn't pay much attention to them, busy with unsaddling the three horses he'd brought in and checking to make sure they hadn't been injured while out on the road or in the storm. But as he was looking about for grooming equipment, he found himself giving a second glance to the black mare.

He went to her, not sure what had attracted his interest. She had a dainty, elegant head, which she immediately stretched out so that he could pet her. Her liquid brown eyes looked at him with immediate and absolute trust, clearly this was a mare used to being well-loved by humans. Behind her, a skittish red yearling paced and blew, rolling his eyes nervously at the stranger.

Eventually, it came to Hoss that he'd seen this mare before. He remembered her dainty looks, but most especially her very sweet temperament. She was a beautiful little mare, but more than that she was very friendly and gentle, and seemed to love people on sight. He couldn't quite place when or where he'd met her. It had been a few years ago. Finally he left her alone to finish caring for the horses he'd brought in. He figured it would sooner or later come back to him where he'd seen her before.

There wasn't much he could do except leave the three horses loose in the barn; certainly they could not all fit in the single empty stall, though its bucket allowed them easy access to water. But the three were good and trusted horses. If any of them got into trouble, it would be Cochise, and he was smart enough not only to be a prankster, but to ensure his mischief was harmless.

Finding the way back to the house was much easier, even through the snow Hoss could faintly make out the glow of light through the frosted window in the living room, and he headed towards that until he all but fell onto the porch, then fumbled around until he found the door itself.

Inside, he found Joe sitting in the living room, looking extremely pleased with himself.

For a split second, Hoss thought Joe had somehow seen Cochise guiding Hoss to the barn, but then he saw the look was a lot more glowing than that. Before his brother spoke, Hoss had absorbed the meaning of that look, and he took a careful seat on a nearby chair.

"You took too long with those horses," Joe said, a very distracted looking smile on his face, "You missed the excitement," by which he clearly meant the actual birth; lastly he added, "It's a boy."

The announcement, though Hoss had anticipated it, still knocked the wind out of him. Even though these people were total strangers, there was just something about having babies that took precedence over everything. The expression Joe had said the baby was healthy, at least to look at.

A squeal from the other room confirmed a strong set of lungs on the new little one.

The two brothers were contentedly silent for some time, listening to the baby cry, then begin to make more pleasant gurgling sounds, then eventually the baby got quiet, probably eating or else sleeping. The mustache didn't emerge from the room, like as not he'd forgotten Hoss and Joe entirely. He could hardly be blamed for that, new fathers tended to have eyes only for their wives and children, and the boys could only assume that the man belonged to the woman and infant.

Finally, Hoss broke the silence, "What is it with babies and bein' born in storms? D'you s'pose there's somethin' in the air they like? Seems like babies are always bein' born in snow or thunder, and mostly at night too."

"I think babies have something against people sleeping," Joe remarked dryly, having also noticed a certain propensity of offspring to arrive in the middle of the night.

They both sighed, Joe lazing one end of the couch while Hoss leaned back in the chair. They gazed into the fire, transfixed by the crackling flames, enjoying the light and the warmth and security it provided on this stormy night. They tried not to worry about their pa, who was very likely out in it, knowing they could do nothing for him until the storm cleared. Because they were exhausted and caught up in the afterglow of a brand new life entering into the world, it wasn't too difficult to avoid worrying. In fact, it was almost impossible to connect the events of this night with all that had preceded it. Elodie felt a million miles away just now and -in this weather- it might as well have been.

Nobody would be able to follow them now, the storm would wipe out any trace of them.

Hoss found himself idly wondering if Deputy Mayer had anticipated the storm and been counting on its help. But, if he had, then surely he would have warned them about it. Being out in a blizzard, especially at night, was just as likely to kill as a bullet from a gun.

"Hoss," Joe said finally.

"Yeah?"

"You remember that Christmas we had a widow and her daughter staying with us?"

"Elizabeth and Susie May Griffon," Hoss recalled, "I recall you were sweet on Elizabeth."

Joe smiled a little at the memory, and he laughed quietly, "She liked my horse."

"I reckon she liked more about you than that," Hoss said.

"She liked that Susie May liked me," Joe admitted, "That little girl was a ball of energy. It was all I could do just to keep up with her," he smiled again, "She liked my horse too, but she couldn't say his name. She called him Spot. I don't think he minded."

"That horse don't care what you call him, jus' so long as you bring him a treat. Susie May liked to feed horses carrots, I think."

Joe nodded, "She was always taking them from the kitchen. Poor Hop Sing had a terrible time making anything involving carrots, because she'd take them all and give them to the horses."

"That was some of the strangest stew he ever fixed," Hoss said, wrinkling his nose a bit, "It just ain't right if it don't have any carrots in it."

"Well, it _was_ supposed to be carrot stew," Joe reminded him, "I don't think I've ever seen Hop Sing more embarrassed or annoyed. But I think he may have purposely left a few of those carrots unsupervised," Hop Sing, despite being very temperamental, was actually quite fond of children, and he had a special soft spot for any who had suffered more than their share of grief, as a child who'd lost her father to an accident less than a month before Christmas.

"Remember when she decided to sing for us?" Hoss asked, knowing his brother did.

Elizabeth Griffon had a beautiful singing voice, and had often performed for her friends and family at parties. Susie May had inherited her mother's enthusiasm but, at four years old, she lacked the talent. But she had wanted to give the Cartwrights something because her mother had told her that was a good thing to do when people were kind to you, so she'd arranged to sing for them on Christmas Eve. Her voice was high, her tune carrying somewhat nonexistent, but her heart was in the right place. She'd put all her love for the Cartwrights into her singing, and they'd been touched by the gesture.

"What was that she sang instead of Joy to the World?" Joe asked, "Something involving dogs?"

Little Susie May had a knack for inventing her own lyrics when she couldn't remember the words to a song, and she remembered her improvised lyrics for later performances.

"Boing to the Squirrels, I think it was," Hoss said.

Joe nodded quietly, and they gazed into the fire without speaking for a couple of minutes.

Then Joe said, "That was a good Christmas."

"Yeah," Hoss agreed, "It sure was."

Studying the licking flames in the fireplace, Hoss found himself wondering if this Christmas might also somehow be a good one. With his father most likely out in a blizzard and Candy's whereabouts and condition now unaccounted for, he wasn't sure how it could be.

Then again, a lot of Christmases had seemed destined to be bad, or at least sorrowful. But, somehow, they had always ended up alright, though some had been rather bittersweet, such as the first Christmas after Joe's mother died. That one had been very sad... but not only that. Hoss remembered them all sitting around the fire that Christmas Eve, and he realized that was the night their tradition of reminiscing about past Christmases had begun. That alone made it a good Christmas, even though it was touched by grief, as were so many that had come after. He supposed that -in a strange way- being etched with sorrow was what made the joys of Christmas all the more clear and meaningful.


	20. Almost Where the Journey Ends

The journey to Dewton had felt as though it would never end, and every minute of every mile had been fraught with worry. When the whiteout had forced Ben to stop for more than a day, his fears became harder to ignore. Trapped in a hotel while the storm raged outside, there was nothing for Ben to do except think and worry, wondering if his boys were alright and praying their captors didn't get nervous or impatient and hurt or kill Joe and Hoss as a result. He could do nothing except ask that God intervene on their behalf, and he had no way of knowing if his prayers were being heard or answered.

He knew only too well that sometimes God's answer was no. He knew that, and accepted it in his heart, but it was difficult to remember and have faith that everything would work out for good even if it seemed unlikely when it was his boys in danger, possibly already dead. It didn't matter that they'd been in danger before, that they could have died a hundred times over one way or another. Every time was just as bad as the first, each time the fear Ben experienced was just as real.

When he was finally able to set out once more, he felt the weight of his years not in their number, but in the amount of grief that he had to carry with him, and he felt doubt that he could carry even a little bit more. He'd lost so many friends over the years, and his three wives. Despite his wealth and his land and his influence, in the end the only thing that mattered to him in this world was his boys. Everything he did was to make sure that he left them a legacy not only of ranching, how to raise cattle and to conduct logging operations without completely stripping the forest, but also teaching them what was moral and just not merely through lengthy word explanations, but by daily examples. So long as he lived, he knew he was an example to his sons. No matter how old they got, they would always look to their father to show them the kind of men they wanted to be.

As he rode along, he found himself wishing that Adam were here. All of his boys were independent in their ways, but Adam had ever had his sights set far beyond the borders of the Ponderosa. He wanted to see the world, be a part of it, and make his own way. Ben didn't resent that, though he often missed Adam's wise council, cool temperament and steady reliability. Ben wouldn't wish this fear on anyone, least of all one of his sons, but to not make the ride alone would have made it much easier, especially since Adam was nearly always able to keep his fears at bay until they were either realized or proven to not have any real foundation. Ben knew that, underneath the surface, Adam was perhaps truly the most sensitive of the brothers, and he knew that the real reason he wished for Adam's company was merely that this would be more bearable if he weren't alone. Thus it was a selfish wish, the same as the one that kept him hoping that Adam would someday return home to stay.

Buck seemed to sense Ben's fear, but more importantly is urgency, because the horse kept trying to pick up the pace. The big buckskin was of a calm disposition, and normally couldn't be bothered to go faster than an easy walk without prodding. The horse was a dependable animal. Even during extensive shootouts, Buck seldom spooked, and would stay where Ben had put him with nothing but a ground tie to hold him where he was. Once when Ben had been shot, Buck had gone calmly and methodically in search of help, even though he too had been injured. Now the horse pulled at his bit and tried to hurry along, even though the snow was deep and not at all to his liking.

More than once, Ben found himself pulling the horse to a stop and patting his neck, trying to discourage his mount from overexertion. The horse had a willing heart, but he didn't understand that the journey was a long one and he couldn't make it without conserving his energy. Ben supposed the horse was acting up because Ben himself wasn't calm inside and it was taking every bit of self control he had not to set the horse to a gallop and ride him into the ground just to reach Dewton a little faster. The hell of it was that Buck seemed willing to do that for his master even without any request that he do so.

It occurred to Ben that, hard to believe as it seemed, Buck was very nearly as old as Joe. Like Joe, Buck had been born on the Ponderosa. Ben hadn't been looking for a new mount at the time, but it had been love at first sight when the little golden colt with his points of black came stumbling into the world. He hadn't looked like much at first, truth be told. He'd been born darkish, with a black stripe down his back and almost no black on his legs at all. But his newborn baby fuzz had quickly begun to shift, and it was soon clear he'd one day be a beautiful buckskin, a color which to ranchers had always denoted speed, stamina and long life. But it was more his gentle nature and seemingly in-born trust of people that quickly endeared him to Ben. That and his boys all nagging him not to sell the foal, to keep him for himself. Especially Joe, who was young at the time and very sentimental about horses.

Some part of Ben had known he'd keep the horse. He'd handled all the buckskin's training right from the start, and never let any inexperienced hands so much as touch him. But in his own mind, Ben had convinced himself that he would sell the foal, who would be worth quite a lot not only because of his color, but his fine lineage and beautiful conformation.

The boys had discussed it among themselves, and finally decided on their argument, the timing, and their messenger. Adam was the oldest, but also the most capable of logical debate and discussion, which made him best equipped to counter any argument Ben might make to sell the foal. Their chosen timing was the holiday season, and they seemed to know that it was towards the end of the year that Ben's heart would most be rebelling against the idea of selling the buckskin. Adam had made his assault in Ben's office, probably so his brothers could eavesdrop from upstairs.

"You could consider him a Christmas present to yourself," Adam had reasoned.

Ben had vetoed that argument, but Adam had persisted. Finally he had pulled from his pocket the money that he, Hoss and Joe had all earned working on the Ponderosa, and also taking up odd jobs at other ranches. He placed the money on the desk, looked right at his father and said, "If you won't keep him, then we'd like to buy him. Count it, you'll see it's the best offer you'll get."

Ben had to admit that it was true, and Adam sat back with satisfaction.

"And what do you plan to do with this horse, once you have him in your possession?" Ben inquired.

"We plan to give him as a gift," Adam replied, "We've talked it over, and we agreed that there's only one man we know of who should have such a fine horse as that one's going to be."

"You're not going to let me get rid of Buck, are you?" Ben asked.

Adam shook his head, "No. And if you try selling him to someone else, we'll track them down and buy him back. You're keeping that horse, Pa, so get used to the idea."

Ben didn't like being told what to do, but he knew that he was no match for the united determination of all three of his boys. In the end, he'd let them buy Buck and give the colt to him for Christmas.

"That should teach you to spend your money more wisely," Ben admonished them.

That had been a good Christmas, Ben recalled.

He also remembered that it had taught the boys nothing. Years later, they had tried again to express their love by buying him another fine horse, only this time the animal hadn't belonged to him to begin with. Unfortunately, the beautiful white horse had been shot and killed on the journey home. The noble creature had however managed to carry Joe across dangerous land, and delivered the youngest Cartwright safely into his father's arms. Though he'd only seen the horse after it was dead, Ben was grateful for what it had done. Even so, he supposed it was best that he not have to divide his loyalty between two horses, especially as Buck had by then served faithfully for many years.

* * *

Eventually, Ben made it to Dewton. He realized then that Buck's persistent and out of character obstinance and insistence on trying to pick up the pace had distracted him. He'd been so busy trying to get the horse to behave that he hadn't had the time to actually worry. Now he'd arrived, all the worry came crashing back in, and he reined Buck to a stop.

Warily, he took in the aspect of the town, registering in his mind where each building was and what label -if any- it bore on its front. It was late afternoon, and the early sunsets at this time of the year combined with the heavy cloud cover in the sky ensured it would be dark in a couple of hours. That was when Ben expected to be contacted. In the meantime, he decided to register in the hotel where he'd been told to wait.

Riding slowly down the main street, then back up, he located two hotels. From the outside they looked roughly the same except for the name sign hanging above their doors. Unfortunately, the note hadn't specified which hotel he was meant to register in. He supposed maybe it didn't matter.

Lacking any outward differences, the main choice seemed to be in the name. One was the Corner Street Hotel, the other was called the Trusted Pony Hotel. Given his line of thought over the last several hours, the name of the second hotel rather appealed to Ben.

Considering the time of the year, and also the weather of late, Ben was half-surprised to find someone manning the desk in the lobby. A wiry, polite gentleman had Ben sign in, and gave him a room key.

"Good thing you showed up," the man said, "I was beginning to think I should just board up for the rest of the year and let Lue Artly handle any drifters that might come through. Seems like there have been people coming and going from his place for the last week almost."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Ben remarked, "I just got into town. You wouldn't happen to know of a good place I could stable my horse, would you?"

"That's one thing Artly hasn't got," the man said brightly, "I've got a small stable out back where guests usually leave their horses. It's self service, but I provide the feed and bedding and other things. You can lead your horse around there and use what you need of anything you find in the barn, no extra charge."

Tired and preoccupied, Ben would have preferred to have a full service livery, but the hotel owner didn't seem inclined to offer another recommendation. Ben didn't know if he was trying to drum up business by offering amenities his competition didn't, or if perhaps there wasn't a livery in operation just now. He supposed it wasn't a good time of year for it, not many people passing through.

Rather than inquire, Ben merely thanked the man and led Buck down a narrow alley between buildings to get to the back of the hotel. It was near the edge of town, without anything behind it, which meant there was plenty of space not only for a stable but also a decently sized pasture.

The interior of the stable was to Ben's liking. It was warm, well-ventilated but not drafty, and the stalls were good-sized and clean, with plenty of dry straw. Both hay and grain were available and there was a clean bucket for water hanging in each stall. There was even a small area for grooming, with the same sort of equipment Ben was accustomed to using back home, if a little older and more worn-out.

There was one other horse already stabled, presumably belonging to the hotel owner. Though Ben was road weary and wanted nothing more than to care for his horse, put him away and then retire to his hotel room where he could do his worrying in the warmth of the indoors, something about the other horse caught his attention. Something was oddly familiar about the face that peered out at him.

After he'd removed Buck's bridle and saddle, his curiosity got the better of him and he went over.

The horse was a little shorter in the withers than Buck, but of similar general conformation. It was a mare, a richly toned red dun with a blaze on her face so white it seemed to glow. Her ears perked towards him as he approached, and she nickered in a friendly way, seemingly eager for some attention, though from her sleek and shining appearance she'd been recently groomed, her water bucket was full and she had even been provided a blanket that she'd been able to pull slightly askew.

The mare daintily reached forward with her muzzle and searched Ben's pockets, evidently used to men bringing her treats. Once she'd determined there was nothing to be had, she did not withdraw, but seemed merely to resign herself to receiving affection and nothing more.

But the reason Ben lingered was not merely because she was so friendly and beautiful to look at (even with her sideways blanket); he couldn't seem to place where he'd seen her, but he remembered well the fine points, the bright blaze, the strangely soulful eyes and gently friendly demeanor that denoted a good trainer and fair handling. The trouble was that Ben saw a lot of horses, and he certainly didn't have the time to make a note of each of them, particularly if he had no special reason to pay close attention to them. Something told him that the mare hadn't been for sale, and he hadn't been in the market for a horse at the time anyway, but somehow she'd stuck in his mind and he wasn't sure why.

Finally he gave up trying to figure it out and returned to caring for Buck. The mare made no sound or gesture of protest at his departure, but she didn't retreat into her stall either. Instead, she stuck her head out and watched with rapt attention while Ben groomed and stabled Buck.

While he was feeding Buck, someone new entered the barn. Ben didn't notice because he was facing away. Not until the red dun mare offered her friendly nicker did Ben suddenly turn around and find himself face to face with a stranger. His hand went instinctively for his gun, not only because he'd been startled but because he had reason to expect trouble would come sneaking up on him.

He stayed the impulse when he caught sight of the glint of a badge on the other man's chest.

The man had hair of either light brown or dark blond, and he gazed at Ben with steady blue eyes. At first glance, Ben judged him to be about Joe's age, but a second inspection said he was quite a bit younger. Yet he wore a sheriff's badge as though it belonged to him, and stood with an easy confidence.

"Mr. Cartwright?" he inquired.

"Yes..." Ben replied uneasily.

"I was starting to think that storm had stopped you," the sheriff of Dewton said, sounding neither friendly nor unfriendly, "You and I have some things to discuss."

"We do?" Ben asked flatly, opting to assume the same lukewarm attitude of the sheriff.

"About Elodie," the sheriff said, "And your sons."

"Hoss and Joe," Ben said, without thinking, "Do you know where they are? What happened to them? Are they alright?" the questions all tumbled out unbidden.

"Easy, slow down," the sheriff said, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture, and Ben noticed a flinch when he moved his right arm, "If you'd come back to my office with me, we can have a cup of coffee and I'll tell you what I do know."

"Where are my boys?" Ben asked insistently.

"That's something I don't know," the sheriff admitted.

"Then I'm sorry, but I haven't got the time to talk to you," Ben said.

"But I do know where they were seen last, and who caught hold of them," the sheriff continued, as though Ben hadn't even spoken, "and I've got two of the culprits in jail already."

Ben quickly changed his mind and agreed to accompany the sheriff back to his office.


	21. Heaven Sent

Calmly, efficiently, and without stopping to fill in trivial details such as how he'd come to know all this, Sheriff Hank Walker introduced himself, and explained what he knew about what had happened to Joe and Hoss. He related finding out about the message, and the visits of the Elodie deputies which culminated in the death of one and arrest of two others. He didn't mention his having been shot, and Ben was so single-mindedly focused on his boys and what might be happening to them and if this man could help them that he didn't even think to ask where Hank had come by the information.

The coffee was good, hot and fresh, but Ben didn't especially notice.

"I sent one of my men out yesterday morning to scout around Elodie. I was afraid you might have gotten lost or snowed in somewhere in the whiteout. With another storm heading in tonight or tomorrow, I decided to move ahead without you. It's a fair piece to Elodie, especially with the snow deep like it is now. Hopefully that Elodie sheriff isn't too worried about his men," Hank paused, "I am worried about the suspicion we may have caused but, after they started shooting, it really couldn't be helped. I didn't expect any delay at the time."

"How many men do you think the sheriff of Elodie has working for him?" Ben asked.

"It's never been my business to bother much with Elodie. Those people keep to themselves for the most part. Even Ol' Jeff Kailen preferred to do his business here in Dewton, though Elodie was closer. That was before he died, of course."

"Kailen?" Ben frowned, "Kailen... I know that name."

"Ran a small horse breeding outfit along with his partner, Clint Tanner" Hank supplied, "Sad thing, he left his pregnant wife a widow, with nobody to help her except Clint. Hopelessly inept with horses, that one. His job was the business side, dealing with the people and the finances. Jeff Kailen did all the raising and training and stud selecting. That was the Jeff Kailen Mare in the stable."

"I remember now," Ben said, "It was a few years ago. Jeff Kailen came all the way out to the Ponderosa with two mares. He was a good man. Fair-minded, cared for his horses well, and could recognize a fine animal when he saw it."

"Everybody laughed when he brought home that red dun. She was a spitfire yearling at the time, who'd bite you as soon as look at you, and she fought a halter and lead as though it was a snake tied onto her face. But Jeff Kailen said she would make a fine dam, and he was right. Jeff was always right about horses, and he brought the best out in them."

"I remember that," Ben remarked, "You said he left a widow?"

"Laura Kailen," Hank said, "She could have her baby any time now. Just got word that she and Tanner are engaged, so she's got that going for her, I suppose."

Resigned to waiting, but not happy with it, Ben decided to bring the conversation back to relevancy.

"Have the two men you arrested been any help?" he asked.

"One of them griped about Deputy Mayer sending them out here," Hank said, "But that doesn't tell me much. Otherwise, they've pretty much clammed up."

"You wouldn't happen to know this Mayer, would you?"

"Like I said, Dewton and Elodie may be next to each other on a map, but we don't spend much time getting acquainted. Elodie men come here from time to time, but they tend to mind their own business, so I don't get to know them by name. Only people I know by name are residents and chronic troublemakers who breeze in now and then. Other than that, I leave people alone. To read your name didn't mean a great deal to me, but once I saw you I knew you'd come through before, and now I've got a good idea what your sons look like because I've seen them traveling with you."

"I'm afraid I've never noticed you," Ben said.

"No reason to," Hank replied, "You kept your nose clean, and so long as people do that, I don't like to bother them by making my presence felt. Besides, most people see the face and don't even think to look for the badge. I think I was a deputy when I last saw you come this way anyhow."

"Possibly," Ben said, "I used to go on all the cattle drives, but in recent years I've started letting Hoss and Joe handle it."

"Based on the fact that I've never had cause to learn their names before now, I'd say they handle it pretty well on their own," Hank observed.

Ben nodded, "They're good boys."

"So I've gathered," Hank said.

Somehow, it sounded like he'd gathered that information in more ways than just informal observation as he'd already mentioned, but before Ben could ask about it, there came the sound of hoof beats. A rider was coming, and fast. A moment later, the door burst open.

"Sheriff!" the tall, dark haired young man who'd entered stopped at sight of Ben, then looked at Hank, nodding sideways at the newcomer, "Cartwright?"

Hank nodded mildly and said, "Mr. Cartwright, this is Jake Williams, the deputy I sent to Elodie."

Ben's interest quickened and he looked expectantly at the deputy, whose face was somewhat flushed. Jake seemed rather breathless, but as Ben was occupying the deputy's chair and Hank had the sheriff's chair, he just came over and leaned on the sheriff's desk.

"Well?" Hank inquired.

"Well, I went to Elodie like you said, but things aren't like we expected," Jake told him.

"Then how are they?" Hank asked, with more patience than Ben could have mustered.

"The sheriff's not the sheriff anymore. The new sheriff put him in jail."

Hank took this news with an outward aspect of calm, but there was an interested look in his clear eyes.

"And what of the Cartwright boys?" Hank asked.

"Elodie's new sheriff, a fella by the name of Mayer, said he'd turned 'em loose."

Ben was on his feet now, eager for any scrap of information, "Did he say where they went?"

"Said he sent 'em this way," Jake replied, casting a wary look at the imposing stature of Ben now he was standing up, "Told them to come to us," he hesitated, glancing sidelong at Ben again before resuming addressing Hank, "But that was the night of the whiteout."

"They musta got lost somewhere along the way," Hank stated the obvious purposely, "Because they never made it here," he turned to Ben and spoke his next reassuring words in an even tone, "There's a couple of ranches and line shacks scattered along the way. Like as not they found a place to hole up."

"I'm going to find them," Ben said decisively.

"There's a lot of territory, and you don't know where to look. And you haven't got much time before that storm hits," Hank informed him, "Which means we're going too. Jake, rustle up as much help as you can find. Not many people around this time of year, but maybe enough if the Cartwright boys found a safe place to weather the storm."

"I've already got the Elodie sheriff outside," Jake replied, "The new one, that is. Only deputy he's got is a dog. Seems he had to arrest most of the others."

In a matter of minutes, Ben had Buck saddled and found himself in the company of four men and an animal which could debatably be identified as a dog. Dewton Sheriff Hank Walker and deputies Jake and Steve Williams, along with Elodie Sheriff Mayer. He didn't know the dog's name.

As soon as they were out of town, Hank split them up to cover the most ground in the least amount of time. He paired Ben with Steve, who -in addition to his own mount- was leading the red dun mare. The two of them were assigned to follow the trail leading up to the Kailen-Tanner place, and see if Clint Tanner or Laura Kailen had seen any sign of the Cartwright boys, and also see if Tanner could be persuaded to join the search if he hadn't.

"I wouldn't pin too much hope on Tanner," Steve said as they rode out, "Mrs. Kailen's about to have a baby, and the man's all but glued to her side. I was supposed to send the doctor along with this mare, but the doc's still out. This being the only mare that doesn't have a foal attached to her side, I figured I'd best bring her along so Tanner would have something to ride, just in case he's got a mind to."

Ben offered a grunt as a reply. He wasn't really listening, he was looking for signs that his boys might have passed this way, even though he knew the chance was slim, either that they had or that any sign of them would have survived the whiteout.

For whatever reason, the Elodie sheriff's dog was tagging along with them, dashing ahead of their horses and sniffing eagerly at the snow, its tail high and waving.

"If that sheriff hadn't been so sure that was a dog," Steve said conversationally, "I'd've sworn it was a wolf. Prob'ly woulda shot it too, what with the way it leaped out into the street at me when I rode in."

Ben grunted again, still not listening. Steve gave up the idea of conversation.

It was a longer ride to the Kailen-Tanner place than Ben would have liked but, at least on the road they were following, there were no other chances of shelter along the way. The Dewton sheriff had said it was closer to Elodie than Dewton. Ben wondered if that meant there was a better chance of the boys being there. He didn't know when they'd been set loose, nor when the whiteout had hit here.

Darkness had nearly closed in by the time they arrived in the yard. At their approach, a horse in the barn issued a neigh of welcome, to which Buck apparently didn't respond, but the red dun mare Steve was leading did. Buck seldom vocalized when he was wearing a bridle, especially not when he was involved in action such as travel. But though Buck said nothing, he did lift his head and perk his ears forward, as well as making a brief attempt to quicken his step, though that might have been merely because of seeing the barn.

Though he didn't want to get his hopes up, Ben was sure he recognized that horse in the barn. He had intended to stay on his horse while Steve went to the door and spoke with Tanner, but the second neigh from the horse in the barn spurred him to get down and go to the door himself, hoping in spite of himself but afraid to believe.

As Ben approached the porch, the door was opened and a tall man with a mustache stood there.

"You're not the doc," he sounded disappointed, and immediately left the door.

But there was a scramble of activity beyond the door, of someone else getting up and coming to see who had arrived. Ben recognized the sound of the footfalls before Joe appeared in the door.

"Pa!" Joe exclaimed, and immediately ran to meet him.

Joe's single exclamation was enough to bring Hoss from wherever he was, and the three of them embraced eagerly, all trying to tell their stories at once. Ben didn't even notice when the mustached man returned and peered out the door, then looked up at Steve, who merely shrugged.

"I brought your mare back," Steve said, "Should I put her in the barn?"

"I better help," Clint told him, "I've got three horses running around loose in there, and I wouldn't want them to run out."

Steve shrugged, and dismounted. Clint led the way to the barn while Steve led the mare, who followed excitedly, her head high and nostrils flared to catch the scent either of her horse friends or possibly her preferred feed. Clint opened the door carefully, but he needn't have worried because the three horses off the Ponderosa had no interest in going out, though the pinto immediately pressed up to investigate the newly arrived red dun. The mare seemed just as interested in him.

Clint adjusted the buckets in the barn so that the red dun could be put in her stall without the other horses losing access to water in the barn. In the meantime, the black and white horse and the red-gold mare were getting better acquainted by sniffing. They seemed to like each other quite well. So well in fact that they actually started to groom each other's withers like old pasture companions.

"Good thing she's not ready to breed," Steve remarked, "The way those two are gettin' along, we'd never be able to stop them."

Clint checked the mare over before putting her away, to make sure there wasn't any ice matted in her coat, or stones in her hooves or anything else she might have picked up on the road here.

"Laura had her baby," Clint told Steve while he worked, "A boy. She named him Jeffrey."

"Sorry I couldn't get the doc here. He's still out," Steve replied.

"Don't worry about it," Clint said, "Laura was right all along, she delivered that baby without a hitch, didn't need us at all. Those boys seemed to have seen a newborn or two though, and I'm afraid they've been doing all the work since Jeffrey was born. All I can say is Heaven must have sent them to us."

"What makes you say that?" Steve asked, holding the red mare's head and stroking her while Clint finished going over her.

"I'd never seen a baby born," Clint confessed, "And I've been afraid to leave the room for a minute, like it won't be real anymore if I'm not watchin'. Those boys have been fixing the food, keeping the fire going, taking care of the horses... anything that needs doing, they do it. They're so calm and matter-of-fact about it, just like Laura... I'm shamed to say I may have panicked a little."

"That man I brought along with me is their father," Steve said, "When they didn't show up in Dewton, we got kinda worried about 'em, especially now all the shootin's over."

"Shooting?" Clint asked sharply, looking suddenly worried, "What shooting? Who did you shoot?"

"Me personally, I didn't shoot anybody. Not for lack of trying. Fact is, I think that Elodie sheriff's dog did more damage per inch than any of us."

"You better come in and take this story from the top," Clint said, "I want to hear it. But first I want to check on Laura. Can you put the mare in her stall?"

"You've only been gone ten minutes," Steve protested to Clint's retreating back.

"Thanks," Clint threw over his shoulder as he left.

Steve looked at the mare, who was making nice with the pinto again, then he looked at the door which opened briefly, then shut behind Clint. He sighed, smiled and shook his head.

"Imagine what'll happen if that man ever has a son of his own," Steve said to nobody.

The horses all perked their ears to catch the sound of his voice, and a sound issued from the red dun mare that sounded eerily like an amused chuckle instead of the usual noises horses make.

The pinto echoed the sound, and for a moment Steve could've sworn he saw humor in the horse's dark eyes, but he later decided it had to be just the reflection of lamplight.


	22. Giving Life

The way Hoss and Joe explained it, they had been on their way to Dewton when the whiteout hit. They'd been lucky to stumble onto the Kailen-Tanner place. Peculiarly, they actually didn't know where they were. The only names they had heard were Laura and Jeffrey. Introductions had never been exchanged between them and Clint Tanner. By the time the excitement of the birth had passed, any shred of formality had dissipated. They'd become so immediately and so deeply entwined with the lives of the two people they'd met and the baby they'd helped bring into the world that they just didn't even think of giving their names or asking Clint for his.

After the initial greeting and reassurance that they were all healthy and well, they had retreated into the house to continue trying to untangle just what had happened to who.

"Hoss has spent most of his time doing whatever needs to be done for Laura," Joe explained, "And I've been out with the horses. Handling those colts is a full-time job in itself, they're so wild."

"And it didn't occur to either of you that you should get to Dewton as quickly as possible?" Ben asked.

"Sure it did, Pa," Hoss answered, "But seein' as Miss Laura needed our help, especially with keepin' Mr. Tanner calm... it didn't seem right to leave."

"And... and that first day the whiteout was so bad," Joe put in, "We could barely find our way to the barn, forget making it all the way to town. I meant to ride in to town today, but I sort of got involved with the horses and time got away from me... and then it was... was getting dark and I figured..." he trailed off, swallowing uneasily.

Ben sighed, "I don't suppose I can be upset with you for prioritizing the needs of a new baby and his family over your own problems. I could have done without the worry though."

Joe and Hoss looked sheepish, but hardly ashamed of themselves. How could they be? Ben had raised his boys to care about other people, and to do for others without thought for themselves. Besides which, he was sure that they had made a choice in their own minds. Ben was a grown man, well able to defend himself. But babies were fragile and vulnerable. It was critical to keep them warm and fed and safe. That was all the mother's job usually, but taking care of a baby's mother was just as important. So many women died not only in childbirth, but shortly afterward. And so many babies didn't make it through the first few weeks of their lives. Winter made those first weeks all the more dangerous, not only because of the cold, but because of the potential lean times that the cold and snow usually caused.

Even though the horses seemed trivial, the fact was that they would be essential if it was necessary to move mother and child into town for some reason. Without needing to be told, Joe and Hoss had also assessed that this was a horse ranch. The horses were the family's future. If they grew sick, ill-cared for or even died, that would make life all the harder for the new family.

Ben knew his boys understood all of this, and had made their decision accordingly.

"Pa..." Joe spoke hesitantly, as though afraid to ask, "You haven't seen Candy, have you?"

"No, I haven't," Ben replied, "I thought he was with you."

Joe and Hoss exchanged worried looks, and Hoss said, "We ain't seen him since we got arrested in Elodie."

"They were trying to kill him," Joe told him, "He was shot."

"One of them Elodie deputies told us he'd made it to Dewton. He sent men out to bring Candy back," Hoss continued, then allowed Joe to finish.

"He told them not to kill Candy, but he didn't expect them to listen to him."

"Sheriff Walker in Dewton mentioned three Elodie deputies," Ben said, "One of whom is dead now. He didn't say anything about ever having seen Candy. How badly was he injured?"

Joe shook his head miserably, "I don't know. Pa, we've got to find him."

Steve Williams came in just in time to hear the last and asked, "Find who?"

"Candy," Ben replied, "He works for me. He was with Hoss and Joe when they were caught. He got away, but was shot, we don't know how badly."

"Candy?" Steve spoke the name questioningly, "That wouldn't happen to be short for Canaday, would it?"

Ben opened his mouth to say that it was, then paused. Actually, he'd never been sure whether Candy was short for Canaday, or if one was his first name and the other his last. Candy had never volunteered an explanation, and Ben had honestly never asked. For over a year, he had known Candy only as that, it had actually been pure happenstance that he'd ever learned the name Canaday at all.

Joe was quicker on the uptake, "You know where he is?"

Steve seemed to hesitate for a moment, then looked up as Clint Tanner returned to the living room from the bedroom where Laura and the infant were.

"They're both sleeping," Clint said, in response to the inquiring glances of Joe and Hoss.

With the weariness common to all new fathers, Clint sank into a chair with a heavy sigh.

"I've got some soup fixed," Hoss told him, "You want some?"

Clint had closed his eyes when he sat down, but he opened them when he said, "Sure. Thanks."

Hoss glanced at Steve, wanting to hear the answer to Joe's question, but bound by the imperative he and Joe had put at the top of their list, that is taking care of the baby and his family. That included Clint, who seemed bound and determined to exhaust himself with fretting.

Steve decided to take a seat and waited for Hoss to get back before answering the question. He had to step over the prone form of the dusky dog lying on the hearth rug to get to the only unoccupied seat in the room. The dog -lying on his side with his back to the fire- didn't even stir, except to snore a little.

When Hoss returned, he gave the bowl of soup to Clint, then resumed his seat. After a moment of watching Clint test the heat of the soup and nod his appreciation to Hoss, Steve finally answered.

"Yes, I know where Canaday is," Steve said, "Unless he's up and walked away; and somehow I doubt he'll be doin' anything like that for awhile. On the other hand, it was him that killed the Elodie deputy, and I would've bet money that was impossible, given the circumstances."

"Candy did that?" Clint's inquiry startled the Cartwrights; they had been unaware that he'd met Candy.

"Saved Hank's life," Steve confirmed with a nod, "Though I'd never have believed how he got out of a locked cell if I hadn't seen the evidence myself... frankly, I still don't believe it."

"Remember what I said about taking this story from the top?" Clint asked, and when Steve nodded, he said, "Now that goes double. Begin at the beginning."

"Well, for me the story started when Hank came into the bar and poured a bucket of water over our - that's my brother Jake and me – heads and told us we had work to do..." Steve began.

Gradually, Steve's story began to fill in the gaps. It rapidly became clear that, though Candy had never made it to the telegraph office to send a warning to Ben, he was single-handedly responsible for Sheriff Hank Walker's getting involved. When Steve got to the part with Hank sending a message to the Elodie sheriff, Joe broke in and filled in what he knew, then fell silent while Steve recounted the shootout, during which Candy had somehow escaped a locked cell and shot one of the Elodie deputies dead.

"Now," Steve concluded, "How is it that you're so interested in him, Clint?"

"Before he made it to Dewton, he was here," Clint explained, "He'd fallen off his horse near the barn. We brought him in, and Laura patched him up as best she could. She also insisted I lie to the Elodie deputies that came by looking for him. When he regained consciousness, he had only one thing on his mind: getting to a telegraph office so he could warn Mr. Cartwright. I couldn't leave Laura, but I lent him the red dun mare. He could barely sit a horse, but he insisted on going," he shook his head, "I've never seen such devotion in a hired hand before."

The Cartwrights all exchanged significant glances. They knew Candy was much more than that. He was their friend, and he'd stood by them through good times and bad, and this wasn't the first blood he'd shed on their behalf, nor was it the first time he'd risked his life for theirs.

It must have been unimaginably tempting to stay at the Kailen-Tanner ranch, where it was warm, where a woman had cared for his wound, and a man had lied to protect him from the men of Elodie. To stay where it was comfortable and safe, instead of going out into the cold winter on his own, all just to give the Cartwrights a chance of survival. Not even a guarantee... only a chance, which was the most he could offer. It seemed like so little to be willing to give his life for, even though he had ultimately never sent the message. Truthfully, he'd accomplished something far greater.

Had Candy not gone to Sheriff Walker, there would have been no message sent to Elodie. The three deputies then-Deputy Mayer had sent out would have stayed in town. Would Mayer have risked trying to release Joe and Hoss? Probably not. Even if he had, there was almost no chance they would have escaped, and probably shot while trying to escape. Sheriff Walker would not have known to go and talk to Ben, who would in turn not have had any idea where his boys were. Very probably he would have been forced to give over the money, and then would have been killed himself. Candy might have failed utterly in his mission to send a telegraph, but he'd nonetheless succeeded in his ultimate goal: that of keeping the Cartwrights alive.

Before any of them could figure out how to adequately express what they immediately understood, the dog suddenly sprang to his feet with a sound that was akin to a wail, and went racing in the direction of the bedroom, wailing at every step.

"Stop him!" Clint shouted, lunging to his feet and chasing after the dog, thinking the animal was after the baby. Dogs had been known to attack and kill infants, particularly strange dogs who looked a heckuva lot like wolves.

Everyone else was less than a beat behind him. The bedroom door was closed, but not latched, and the dog slammed into it without breaking stride. In an instant, he was at the side of the bed, baying.

By the time the men reached the room, Laura had been awakened, and they saw that the dog hadn't come in to harm the baby, but to warn that he was in danger. Those that could fit had come into the room, the others stood in the door. It was clear that the baby had stopped breathing. Laura had been wakened by the dog, and now sat up in bed, urgently providing first aid with expert hands.

She paid no attention at all to the intruders. She had the baby carefully laid face-down along one of her arms, and appeared to be striking his back for reasons most of them couldn't figure. But she was shaking. Sleep had fogged her mind and tears now clouded her eyes, and she couldn't do it right.

Ben, shoving through the crowd, made his way to the bed and said, "Let me. I know how."

He didn't wait for Laura to give her assent, merely lifted the infant. He positioned the baby as Laura had done, and went through the motions she'd been going through, only with more precision. After he'd done it three times, the baby suddenly coughed, then began to cry. Before turning him over, Ben removed the obstruction he had coughed up. Then he returned the baby to the waiting arms of his grateful mother.

The dog had been utterly silent and motionless since the operation had begun, but now it let out a single, gleeful sounding bark and its tail began to wag ecstatically.

"My God," Clint breathed, and then all but fell upon the dog, expressing his gratitude to the animal by hugging it and petting it, though it seemed to be less than enthused by his display, "Good dog."

Laura looked at the dog, then up at Ben and said, "Thank you. Thank you both."

"Clint said you boys were heaven sent," Steve remarked from where he stood in the doorway, "If you two hadn't been here, neither would we."

"If not for Candy," Joe said, "We wouldn't have been here either."

The dog, for its part, simply sat next to the bed and stretched its nose forward to sniff the baby, its tail sweeping the floor in wide, fast arcs.

"I just hope things calm down now," Clint said, "I prefer miracles to tragedies... but frankly I'm not sure I can take any more of either right now."

Laura, seemingly fully recovered from the narrowly averted tragedy, looked with love at her man and calmly said, "If the good Lord wills it, it will be so."

"Of course, Miss Laura," Clint replied, "Of course."

The others took that as their cue to leave the room. Well, all except the dog, who seemed glued to the bedside. Apparently it felt that its heroics had earned it a place in the room. It wasn't wrong. In fact, after a moment of deliberation, Laura actually patted the bed, inviting the dog up onto it. With exaggerated care, the dog gently climbed up onto the bed, one careful paw at a time.

Then, with a happy sigh, the animal lay down with is body pressed against Laura's legs, its head in her lap, positioned so that its nose was near to the baby, who at first continued to cry, but then finally settled down while its mother sang to it. Clint did not leave the room again for some time.


	23. All is Well

Despite the fact that the house wasn't meant for so many people, they stayed the night. Joe and Hoss had already been taking it in turns to sleep using a bedroll on the living room floor and the couch, now they were content to relinquish the couch to the patriarch of the Cartwright clan. Steve Williams also remained through the dark hours, occupying a space in front of the stove in the kitchen.

In the morning, Clint Tanner urged them to go, saying he felt alright leaving Laura for short periods now. He didn't come right out and say it, but it was obvious that he felt okay leaving the room with the dog in there. If anything happened, the dog would warn him.

"I can go out to the barn while she's awake, just to be extra safe," Clint assured them.

"Just because the dog saved the baby once, it don't make him reliable," Steve said.

"I know," Clint replied, "But... I trust him. There's just something about him."

Seeing as the Cartwrights wanted to see for themselves that Candy was alive, and that Steve wanted to go out and try to find the search parties so he could let them know their job was done, it didn't take much convincing to get the four of them to leave.

"But we'll be back," Joe promised, "Those yearlings need a lot of work."

"You don't have to do that," Clint protested, "I can't even afford to pay you."

"Consider it a Christmas gift," Joe told him, "Or a birthday gift for that boy of yours."

After that they returned to Dewton, once Joe managed to disentangle a reluctant Cochise from the intimate grooming session he and the red dun mare were conducting over her stall door.

Steve split off from them after a bit, heading in the direction his brother had taken the day before. Steve had told the Cartwrights where to find Candy.

The ride to Dewton gave them time to reiterate certain details of their experiences, and for them to mention things they hadn't wanted to talk about in front of Clint and Steve. Joe was even now reluctant to talk about his part in his own escape, but Hoss was perfectly happy to tell Ben all about it.

"Joe's talent for saying slick talkin' finally did some good," Hoss concluded.

"I didn't have much to do with it," Joe said modestly, "Cooch did most of the work," he patted the horse's neck and the horse momentarily pranced as though he were proud of himself and showing off, then he resumed a normal gait as Joe added, "I only told Mayer to take care of him."

"That sounds like a familiar strategy," Ben remarked dryly.

"It works," Joe replied.

"Yes," Ben agreed, giving Joe a glance, "It does."

"The horse that did the most good was Candy's," Hoss said, "He's the one that found the Kailen-Tanner place for us in the middle of a whiteout at night."

"Cochise and Chub were the ones that warned us it was coming," Joe disagreed, "If not for them, we wouldn't have turned off the main road in time."

"And if not for Candy's horse," Hoss persisted, "It wouldn't have done us any good to leave the road."

"What's the matter with you boys?" Ben asked, then reminding them, "You're usually so eager to take credit for your accomplishments... even if they were accomplished by someone else."

Joe and Hoss exchanged glances that looked almost guilty.

Ben caught the looks and said, "What have you boys done now?"

"Well, Pa, it's like this-" Joe began, and the fact that neither he nor Hoss denied having done something was cause enough for concern to Ben.

"Candy admitted somethin' to us before all this started," Hoss interrupted, but Joe took over quickly.

"He said it as a joke, but we both know he was at least partially serious..." Hoss took the explanation back from Joe without missing a beat.

"We know it's always been important to you that we be home for Christmas," Hoss said.

"It's important to us too," Joe put in, "Otherwise we wouldn't have started back the day after a snowstorm."

"What snowstorm?" Ben asked, for that initial storm had not gotten as far as the Ponderosa.

The boys declined to answer, instead continuing their fumbling explanation.

Hoss resumed, "From what Steve said though, it sounds as if Candy won't be gettin' out of bed for awhile, much less goin' anywhere. Certainly not a trip of several days."

"But considering what he said," Joe said when Hoss fell silent, "It doesn't feel right to just leave him, even if he is being taken care of."

Ben felt he was beginning to understand, but when the boys stopped talking over each other, he finally asked the obvious, "What was it that Candy said?"

"Pa," Hoss answered, "You know how Joe and I feel about Candy. An' we've all known for awhile how he feels about us, even though he don't say nothin' about it..." he trailed off.

Joe concluded the answer, "Well... he finally said something about it."

"Oh?" Ben inquired with raised eyebrows, refusing to ask the same question twice.

"He said family doesn't let family do stupid things," Joe said, "Not alone anyway."

"He was talkin' about us, Pa," Hoss supplied, as though that wasn't already clear.

"We were just talking and messing around," Joe persisted when Ben didn't immediately say anything, "You know how we do. It didn't seem like a big deal, except that Candy was coming home with us even though he was pretty open about how stupid he thought we were being."

"But now all this..." Hoss shook his head, "An' everythin' he did, or tried to do..."

"Pa, we can't just leave him here," Joe said.

A little over two years didn't seem like enough time to bond so strongly with someone, but for what had happened over the course of those years. In that time, Candy had trusted the Cartwrights with his life. He had fought alongside them in battles of law and survival. He'd gone along with elaborate and sometimes crazy schemes, even devising a few of his own. He'd entered into fights he knew he couldn't win in support of the Cartwrights and the things they believed in, at the same time never being too afraid to speak out if he thought something different.

Ben and Candy had once been trapped in a mine together for a long time, and through it all -though they'd learned a lot about each other in some ways, including Candy letting on that he wasn't much used to having any friends and that he considered the Cartwrights his friends- Candy had never even mentioned his real name, nor where he'd come from. It wasn't until much later that Ben found out that Candy had been an army brat, an orphan raised by soldiers, and that he really did have a name besides the one he'd given them at first.

With Candy, Ben had learned to recognize who he was by the things he did, not what he said, because he usually didn't say much if it involved who he was, where he'd been, what had happened to him or what he'd done. Thus, when he did say something -no matter the context- it mattered.

But Ben also knew that Candy wouldn't like the idea of the Cartwrights missing out on their all-important Christmas traditions on his account. He'd appreciate the gesture, but would also likely feel guilty, and try to talk them out of it. Having long since learned to be an expert fast-talker as a matter of survival, Candy could come up with more reasons in an instant as to why they should go home than all three of them could think of in a lifetime as to why they shouldn't, and they knew it.

That was why they were so dismissive about their accomplishments in Elodie. They were preoccupied with trying to solve a problem that -to them- was just as thorny as getting their captors to set them free.

They talked about other subjects until they reached town.

After they'd dismounted and tied up their horses in front of the Corner Street Hotel, Ben turned to the boys before they went inside and asked, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Even though they'd changed subjects several times on the way over, neither of them had to wonder what he was asking. They looked at each other, and Hoss answered for both of them.

"Yeah, Pa. We're sure."

Ben nodded, and led the way inside.

There was nobody at the register, but there was a bell. They weren't looking to check in, but Ben also didn't want to just go from room to room looking for where Candy was staying, so he rang the bell.

An unfamiliar voice called from a room off to the right, "What do you want?"

They all exchanged glances, then Ben led the way towards the sound of the voice, beginning to answer that they were looking for a man named Canaday, but he didn't finish the sentence because they found him in the room with the owner of the unfamiliar voice, sitting up on a narrow bed and playing two-player poker with the stranger. From the frown on the other man's face and the serious look in his eyes behind their spectacles, Candy was winning.

"You found me," Candy said, glancing up from his cards briefly, then tossing a couple of toothpicks to a spot on the bed that was serving as their table, "I call."

Seeing as the hand was very likely almost over, the Cartwrights decided to simply wait. Though he was sitting up with his back against the wall behind him and evidently alert enough to carry on a card game that -from the distribution of the toothpicks- he seemed to be winning, Candy was clearly not up to much more than that. He was pale, and though he spoke with his usual somewhat lively intonation, his voice was unusually quiet. He was also cautious in his movements when he tossed the toothpicks, clearly protecting an injury that hurt whenever he moved. It seemed to Ben that he was also taking rather shallower breaths than usual, probably again to protect the injury.

When it came time to show their cards, Candy proved to have been bluffing.

"I knew it," said the man he'd been playing with, "You always look like a cat that swallowed a canary when you've got a losing hand."

Candy laughed softly and grinned, "So I do. It's called bluffing, and you should try it sometime, Lue."

Glancing at Candy's pile of toothpicks, the man he'd called Lue seemed to concede the point.

"Good thing it's just toothpicks we're playin' for," Lue remarked.

"I told you I was good for it," Candy said, then averted his eyes momentarily, "I just... haven't got any money on me."

"You may be good for it, Candy," Lue retorted, "But I'm not. Now, how 'bout we break for lunch?"

"Lue..." Candy sighed and started to shake his head.

"Hey!" Lue interrupted, "The doc said to get food in you regular once your fever broke. So that's exactly what I intend to do," he got up and brushed the Cartwrights aside on his way to the kitchen.

"The man's like a mother hen," Candy complained in a good-natured tone while he gathered up the cards to shuffle them, then, once occupied by the cards, he added, "It's good to see you. I thought for sure you were dead there for awhile."

"You thought _we_ were dead?" Joe exclaimed, " _You_ were the one who got shot."

"Well yeah, but I knew I wasn't dead," Candy replied nonchalantly, then corrected himself in a little more serious tone, "Though there were a couple of times where I thought I was."

"Us too," Joe admitted, "It was pretty close there for awhile."

"By close," Hoss said, "He means he sat on me."

"I did not," Joe protested, "I sat next to you. And anyway, in my defense, you were cold too."

Hoss nodded, agreeing with Joe's assertion, then addressed Candy, "You are alright, ain't ya?"

"Sure," Candy replied with a relaxed grin, an expression that didn't reach his eyes, "It's not the first time I've been shot and had to run for my life."

Not for the first time, Ben wondered exactly what had happened between the time Candy fled Olympus to avoid giving in to his own darker impulses and when he'd met up with Ben's unit as they transported the Indian Wabuska. About all he knew was that Candy's horse had been shot out from under him, because that was all Candy had ever admitted to. And what had happened to him before Olympus? In some ways, the man was still a mystery to him.

"I guess you'll be making it home in time for Christmas after all," Candy said to Joe and Hoss.

They exchanged looks, then both began to talk over one another. Hoss cited the fact that more inclement weather might be on the way, seeing as it had snowed again last night, and though they'd been lucky so far, there was no reason to test their luck with the weather again; meanwhile Joe began to utter some nonsense about a trial for former Sheriff Holt and his deputies.

"Snow didn't seem to bother you much before," Candy said slowly, a look between caution and amusement in his eyes, "And I wouldn't hold my breath for a trial, chances are a judge won't pass this way until the snow clears anyhow. Besides I think they've got more witnesses than they know what to do with. Two sheriffs, a couple of deputies, a business woman. Heck, Lue who runs the hotel and telegraph office here could testify to the message that was sent. And one of them has already confessed anyway, the others probably won't be far behind. If all else fails, they've got me," he sounded oddly apologetic as he continued, as though he was somehow to blame for having been shot in the back, "I'm afraid I won't be able to go back to work until... well, awhile after the first of the year anyway."

"I understand," Ben said patiently, cutting off the attempts his boys were making at coming up with more excuses and also assure Candy that it wasn't his fault that he'd been shot.

Candy nodded slightly, looking relieved.

Even after all he'd been through with them, Candy seemed unable to entirely believe the kind of people he'd fallen in with when he joined up with the Cartwrights. Even now, he wasn't used to people who were good and kind and compassionate for others, and he seemed ever afraid of losing his status in their eyes. It was clear he wasn't used to having allegiances any more than he was used to being around people who cared about others as much or more than they cared about themselves.

"However," Ben continued, and Candy looked at him worriedly, "we're not going home for Christmas."

"No?" Candy spoke the word inquiringly, curious and uneasy.

"No," Ben replied, "Aside from the weather, Joe has agreed to train some yearlings for a man living just a few miles outside of Dewton. He can hardly do that from the Ponderosa. And there's not much point in going home if most of the family is here."

Candy's brow furrowed as he tried to figure the math on that, which had immediately struck him as being off. One couldn't count Adam, whom Candy had never met, and who was probably somewhere at sea just now, and the extended members of the Cartwright clan were scattered across the continent. The immediate family of Joe, Hoss and Ben were all here, and if only one had to stay, it was hardly a majority.

"He's talking about you," Joe said helpfully, "You're family too, remember?"

Candy looked up, but he couldn't seem to find any words to say, but the look in his eyes said more than any number of words ever could. That one look was the only assurance any of them would ever need that they were doing the right thing, the only evidence they'd ever have of how much it meant to Candy that they were staying, the only proof that he understood that they had no other excuse but him.

"I... uh... don't know what to say," Candy said, dropping his gaze and swallowing.

"I do," Joe said.

Candy looked up sharply, that slightly scared but curious look in his eyes again.

Joe nodded towards the deck of cards and said, "Deal me in."

"Me too," Hoss chimed in.

"I think we would all like to be dealt in," Ben suggested.

Candy looked around the room and said, "I don't think there are enough chairs for that."

"Don't worry about it," Joe told him, "There were a couple in the lobby. I'll get them. You deal."

Candy grinned, and finally the light reached his eyes as he responded, "Sure."


	24. There is Peace in This House

**_A/N:_** ** _Thank you all for reading (and reviewing), Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this story._ **

* * *

"So what's next for you, June?" veteran Dewton Sheriff Hank Walker asked.

Newly appointed Elodie Sheriff Jesse Mayer Jr. leaned back in his chair and took a thoughtful sip of his drink. He didn't answer immediately, nor did Hank see any reason to rush him.

Short of hands, seeing as he'd locked up the majority of the able-bodied men in Elodie, Sheriff Mayer had asked for Sheriff Walker's help. Dewton wasn't exactly a final destination, circuit judges didn't come by often enough. But they wanted to get the trial over with before winter set in hard. Since they'd had a few warm days that had melted the snow in spots, they figured on transferring their prisoners to the nearest city that was expecting a judge sometime soon.

Seeing as Sheriff Walker already had to make the journey for the three men he had in lockup, there was no good reason not to help Sheriff Mayer out with his prisoner transfer problem while he was at it. With Christmas been and gone, rustling up deputies in Dewton shouldn't be too difficult, especially since most young men were eager for a paying job that would take them to a city. Deputies Jake and Steve Williams were out right now, rounding up prospects while the two sheriffs conversed and made their plans over cups of strong, freshly brewed coffee.

"There's not much future in Elodie," Sheriff Mayer said finally, "She's a dying town, and all these arrests have only hastened her end. I reckon I'll stay on as sheriff until she turns into a ghost town, which shouldn't be too long now... then..." he shook his head, "I don't know."

Sheriff Walker took a slow, thoughtful drink, staring into the middle distance as he did so.

"You know," Walker said as though the thought had only just now occurred to him, though he'd been thinking on it for a couple of weeks now, "Dewton's getting bigger all the time. Seems to me that I could use a full-time deputy. The Williams' boys are good in a pinch, but they've got other things to do than attend to the day-to-day stuff around here. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get a reliable, polite, relatively experienced man of the law that could earn people's respect without making them afraid of him sometime in the next... oh, year or so... would you?" he looked sidelong at Mayer, who happened to be sitting in the deputy's chair already, it being the only other one in the room.

"That depends," Mayer replied, fully aware of the invitation but not admitting to such, "You don't have any place for a widow and her grown son to set up house, would you?"

"Well," Walker answered, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I know a fella livin' about fifteen miles outside of town, has a little horse ranch. He's got some spots you could build a nice house, and a wife with a new baby that could probably use an experienced mother around to help her. You'd wind up staying in town overnight sometimes on account of the distance, and you might want a pair of horses so you could switch off... but I know a place you could keep horses in town, and I happen to know that ranch has some good ones you might be allowed to use in exchange for a little work now and then."

"What kinda work?" Mayer asked, as though he didn't know.

"Well, it seems our rancher friend is good at business... not so good with horses."

"I'm good with horses," Mayer replied.

"Can you pick good studs and train yearlings?"

"I've done it before," Mayer answered, "Besides, I learn quick."

"Then I suggest you drop by the Kailen-Tanner place. Clint Tanner will be interested in talking to you. Though I'd be sure and ask Laura Tanner how she feels about it. That man may own the deed and horses on paper, but sure as shootin' she runs the place as much as he does."

"That sounds mighty interestin'," Mayer said, "I'll have to think it over."

* * *

Candy was asking the doctor when he could go home long before he was remotely well enough to travel. When he was finally strong enough, he asked Mr. Cartwright if he could go home. He knew a buckboard would have to be rented. He knew it would be a rough journey in his present condition. And he knew that, once home, he couldn't earn his keep. But he didn't want to be in Dewton anymore. The Ponderosa was his home now, and he missed it desperately. More than that, he couldn't stand that the Cartwrights were staying on in Dewton solely on his account. Joe and Hoss had concocted several excuses for why they weren't going home, but Candy knew they were all fibs at best.

"Of course we'll bring you home," Mr. Cartwright said, in response to the hesitantly worded request.

Christmas had been and gone. There had apparently been a party in the lobby of the hotel, but Candy had stayed in the room he was borrowing from Lue Artly and slept through most of it. Joe saved him some leftovers of the food that had been served, and Candy had to admit that it was good, though he -like the Cartwrights- had become somewhat spoiled by Hop Sing's cooking.

The journey home proved to be more painful and exhausting than Candy had expected. He spent most of the daylight hours curled up in the back of the buckboard, trying not to make any noise that might be mistaken for a plea that Hoss -who was driving most of the time- stop their progress.

And he spent the nights being miserably cold, because his still-healing body wasn't able to warm itself as well as usual. But Mr. Cartwright had warned him what it would be like, and asked if he was sure he wanted to go home despite all of that. Candy had answered yes. Mr. Cartwright had the courtesy, or perhaps the kindness, not to ask him if he'd changed his mind.

In the evenings, trying to warm up with a camp fire and coffee before going to sleep, the Cartwrights exchanged stories. Candy listened only vaguely, usually half-asleep where he lay. They talked about the Christmas when the boys had bought Mr. Cartwright a horse, and another when a lame horse had made Mr. Cartwright late getting home. They mentioned women with names like Sally, Elizabeth and Susie May. They talked about the Christmas after the boys' ran their first cattle drive without their father along to guide them. And they talked about their first Christmas after Adam left home, both for college and then for the sea. Sleepy, hurting and not really listening, Candy nonetheless got the impression that Joe seemed to get thrown from his pinto an awful lot in those stories.

Sometimes after the Cartwrights had bedded down, Candy lay awake because he was hurting too much to sleep, and he wondered how things would have turned out if his life had happened differently. If his parents hadn't died one just a few years after the other when he was so young. If he hadn't spent so much time on his own. If he hadn't bounced from the care and training of one soldier to another, not really belonging to any of them, never sure if they liked him or merely felt obligated to make sure he survived when he was under their watch.

Some of them had been very clear about how they felt, but those were the best ones, even if they didn't like him. Some made it perfectly clear that they felt put upon to have to take care of him, that they'd rather he didn't exist, and wished he'd stop bothering them. But it was the ones who disliked him without openly admitting it that had really hurt. He'd grown attached to so many, only to have them one day turn on him like rabid animals, saying they'd never wanted him around. A couple of them had even struck him to prove their point, though of course they hadn't done so publicly.

And then there were the ones who really seemed to care about him. Some said they did. But inevitably they all left. Some of them died, some were reassigned, others just seemed to lose interest in him after awhile. In all cases, he had purposely isolated himself more and more, to avoid the pain of being left behind, and the greater agony of sudden betrayal of trust.

Because it was all he'd ever known, it had always seemed normal to him. But somewhere in the back of his mind was a memory of family he wished sometimes that he could forget. If he could forget, it would be less painful not to have it. At first, being around the Cartwrights had hurt, because it reminded him so strongly of what his life had been before his parents had died, when there had been people who really cared about him. It terrified him, most of all because it awakened feelings in him that he didn't want, because they were the kind that got him hurt.

Not just hope for something better, but a feeling of devotion, and respect, and a certain kind of awe. Before he knew it, he'd befriended the youngest Cartwright, and offered his unreserved loyalty to the family in its entirety. He hadn't planned it that way, it just sort of... happened. It had taken more time for him to build up his trust enough that he wasn't scared to death every second of losing what he'd found on the Ponderosa. A place where he belonged. Not just somewhere to live for awhile, but a home, complete with people he cared for every bit as deeply as family.

There was no sacrifice he would not make for that.

He still had the occasional relapse. Something would happen and he would suddenly find himself drowning in the old fear of being unwanted, outcast, and forgotten. He found himself terrified that he would lose the respect or trust and thus the privileges and affection the Cartwrights had bestowed on him. It could shake him up inside so badly he felt like running. But it had been a very long time since he'd threatened to quit, because he knew he no longer needed an excuse to stay.

He belonged. That was enough.

* * *

Clint Tanner came to Elodie with reluctance, riding the red dun mare, the dog following at her heels. When he arrived, he had little trouble locating Lacy's, but it was a lot harder to make himself go inside. The dog stood beside him, gazing up at his face expectantly. Finally, he went inside.

"Howdy," said a blond behind the bar who looked far younger than he'd expected.

"Hello there, miss," Clint said, "I... uh... are you Lacy Weston?"

"That's me," she replied, "And you are...?"

"Uh, Tanner. Clint Tanner," he said, shaking off his surprise and approaching the bar, "I was told by Sheriff Mayer that... uh... this might be your dog," he gestured to the animal which had followed him at Heel and now sat beside him, looking for all the world as though he'd never been here before.

"Hardly," Miss Weston said, "He just showed up one day, and started looking after me. He comes and goes as he pleases. I had some troubles here in Elodie... but I'm moving south, where the winters aren't so disagreeable. I suppose I don't really need him anymore," she smiled, and expression tinted by a sadness Clint didn't know, "I'm glad he's found someone who does."

"He's sure been a help around the ranch," Clint admitted, "I sleep better at night knowing he's keeping watch, and I don't mind going out to work in the barn when I know he's near Laura and the baby."

"Sounds like a nice place for him to be," Miss Weston said, almost wistfully.

"I like it," Clint said, then fumbled for something else to say, "By the way... what's his name?"

"Name?" Miss Weston looked blank and wide-eyed for a moment, then she smiled again, "Well, I guess I never gave him one. Everyone just called him Lacy's Dog. Privately I've always thought of him as my guardian angel."

Clint nodded thoughtfully, "I suppose that's a good enough name. Everybody calls the horse I rode in on the Jeff Kailen Mare. I suppose they always will."

"Hasn't she got a real name?" Miss Weston asked.

"Sure does," Clint answered, "But nobody will ever call her by it."

"Well," Miss Weston said, "You want a drink before you get on?"

"I should probably get back home," Clint replied, "My new business partner and his mother just arrived, and I promised to help them get settled."

"You rode all this way just to return a dog?" Miss Weston asked incredulously.

"He's a good dog," Clint said matter-of-factly.

"So he is, Mr. Tanner. So he is."

* * *

They'd made it home. Ben and Joe helped Candy inside while Hoss put up the horses. Then they all sat in the living room, enjoying the softness of the chairs and couch, and the warmth of the fireplace.

At Ben's request, Hop Sing served hot coffee, which they all spent more time sniffing and using the mugs to warm their hands than actually drinking, but it served its purpose.

"Y'know," Hoss said, "There's no reason we can't have us a belated New Year's party. We've still got Christmas decorations up, and presents we haven't opened. No reason not to celebrate, right?"

"Sounds good to me, Pa," Joe chimed in.

"I don't see why not," Ben agreed.

Hoss and Joe issued some sound effects of glee. Candy didn't respond to any of it. He seemed pensive, gazing into the fire and not seeming to be paying any attention to them. Or perhaps trying not to show any reaction for some reason. With Candy, one could never be sure.

"Candy?" Ben inquired when Hoss and Joe quieted down.

"Hmm?" Candy blinked and looked over at where Ben was seated, firelight reflecting in his eyes.

"It seems to me that the rest of us have done all the talking for the last several days," Ben said, "Have you got a Christmas story you'd like to share?"

Candy didn't respond at first. For a moment, there was a flicker of that old distrust and fear that used to show in his eyes so often. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced by something unreadable. Joe and Hoss turned expectantly to Candy, waiting for him to say something.

At last, after a seeming eternity, he let out a sigh.

"Well..." he said slowly, "There was this one Christmas when I got shot by a sheriff," he paused to sip his coffee, then added thoughtfully, "It was a good Christmas."

It was amazing how so few words could convey so much. Joe and Hoss looked at each other, evidently not knowing what to make of it, or how to respond. But Ben knew and didn't hesitate.

"That it was," he agreed, "That it was."


End file.
